Payback
by Syl
Summary: Catwoman plays a dangerous game of payback with an old enemy, and Dicky Grayson is inadvertently caught in crossfire.
1. Part 1

**_Summary_**: Catwoman plays a dangerous game of payback with an old enemy, and Dicky Grayson is inadvertently caught in crossfire.

**_Note: _**Thanks to Sandra and Alexandra for the beta-help.

**_Rating_**: PG-13

**_Disclaime_**r: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

**_Copyright_**: March 2003

**** 

Payback 

By Syl Francis

****

Friday, March 21//5:00pm

GCAir Flight 1720, Nonstop Miami-to-Gotham City

On approach: Archie Goodwin International Airport, Gotham City

****

"Are we almost there, Alfred?"

The proper English gentleman in the seat next to the dark-haired boy looked up from the latest copy of _Newsday_, but did not roll his eyes. That would have demonstrated improper behavior, and Alfred Pennyworth was first and foremost a gentleman's gentleman. Lately, though, he'd begun to see himself more often as a highly paid 'nanny.' 

Turning towards his young charge, he allowed himself a mental sigh. It must be the age, he decided. Master Bruce had exhibited the same childish impatience on long trips. He checked his watch. 5:00 p.m. Their flight was scheduled to land in Gotham City's Archie Goodwin International Airport in twenty minutes.

Of course, in all fairness to Dick, the weather had been unusually bad during the flight, making it terribly long and bumpy, with several 'airbag' moments. Alfred was almost certain that the poor woman in the seat behind them had to have lost ten pounds at the very least. She'd thrown up almost steadily for the past two hours.

Even Dick, who had a stomach as close to concrete as any Alfred had ever encountered, had begun to turn just a little green around the gills. Was it any wonder that the poor boy was just a bit anxious?

"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred replied with infinite patience. "We are almost there. Only twenty minutes to go."

"D'you think Bruce is gonna meet us?" Dick asked hopefully. "He said he had something real special planned."

"I am afraid that Master Bruce will not be able to meet us at the airport," Alfred replied urbanely. "He informed me last night that he had some last minute business to attend to and would meet us at the Manor as soon as possible."

"Aw, gee..." Dick said disappointedly. He'd been looking forward to showing Bruce the birthday gifts that Pop Haly and his circus family had given him.

"Now, now," Alfred said with mild reprimand. "None of that glum lip. You will have plenty of time to show Master Bruce your ill-gotten gains."

Dick looked up quickly at the familiar teasing tone in Alfred's voice. Seeing a smile in his eyes, the boy responded in kind.

"Master Bruce promises to meet us at home no later than eight tonight."

"I can hardly wait to show him the carvings of Pop Haly, Simba, Elinore, and Bernardo." The names Dick rattled off belonged to his circus family. Pop Haly was the owner/manager of Haly's Circus. Simba was the star of the lion act. Bernardo, the bear, had been a part of the troupe since before Dick was born. And Elinore, the elephant, had been Dick's closest friend when he was growing up in Haly's circus as part of a family of aerialists known as the Flying Graysons. 

"I wish we could've stayed longer, Alfred," Dick said a bit wistfully. "I really miss them."

"There will be other visits to the circus, Master Dick."

"I know..." Dick murmured sadly. He dropped his chin in his hand.

Alfred instantly placed a single finger underneath Dick's chin and raised it. "I believe we've already discussed the 'no glumness allowed' rule for today, haven't we?"

"Yes, sir..." Dick mumbled. He wasn't exactly the picture of chipperness that Alfred expected on a boy's tenth birthday. Still the plans that Master Bruce had for lad later that evening would certainly raise his spirits. Alfred went back to the news magazine he'd been reading. This time he almost did roll his eyes.

The latest hot singer was featured in a two-page layout, wearing next-to-nothing. The caption underneath read, "Ginny Still a Virgin at 16!" Turning the page, Alfred decided to forego the article. 

He stopped at the next headlines: "Quracan Rebels Shoot Down Jetliner." Reading further, he saw that somehow an extremist terrorist group operating out of Qurac had obtained shoulder-fired missile launchers. Before they were caught in late-night raid, the terrorists had threatened to shoot down any airliner either on take-off or landing at Qurac International Airport.

"My word," he muttered. "Not exactly what one wishes to read while on a plane."

"What was that, Alfred?" Dicky asked.

"Nothing, Master Dick," Alfred said quickly. And then added reassuringly, "We're almost home."

"Okay," Dicky said with a shrug, going back to his handheld electronic game.

As Alfred read a little further, he learned that Quracan government officials believed that the missile launchers were just one phase in a complex international smuggling ring involving drugs, money laundering, and illegal weapons trade. According to an unnamed source, the Quracan government was fully cooperating with the U.S.

Shaking his head, Alfred decided that he'd enough of world events and turned back to 'Ginny, the 16-year-old virgin.' 

Less than half an hour later, the flight attendant announced that they were coming in for a landing and requested that all tray tables and seats be returned to their upright positions. Within minutes, the plane was taxiing to its gate, and soon after that, it came to a complete stop.

As soon as Dick felt the plane jerk to a stop, he jumped up on the aisle seat and opened the overhead compartment. Unexpectedly, the contents, which had apparently been jostled during the flight, came tumbling down on his head. Surprised, Dick lost his footing and fell backward, landing between the seats, buried under the small bags.

"Master Dick!" Alfred called out in concern. "Are you hurt, young sir?"

"Uh...I don't think so." Dick's small voice sounded unsure.

"Hey, kid! What d'you think you're doing?" a male voice growled. Dick, who was on the floor wedged between the seats and still trapped underneath the carry-on luggage, couldn't make out the speaker from his awkward position. All he could see was a forest of adult-sized legs. 

"Excuse me, please," Alfred interrupted. "I must get to my young master--"

"That's not my problem, pally!" the angry voice retorted. "Where's my bag?" Not waiting for an answer, he muttered, "Here it is." A few moments later, a pair of dark gray legs moved off, and Dick suddenly felt a pair of gentle hands helping him up.

"Is he all right?" a feminine voice asked. By then Dick was sitting back on the aisle seat.

"Excuse me, I'm trying to get through," another passenger said. Alfred immediately moved aside to make room for the rest of the deplaning passengers. A young flight attendant hovered worriedly next to Alfred who was busy fussing over Dick.

"I'm okay, Alfred," Dick protested. "Honest." Straightening, Alfred nodded at the flight attendant.

"I believe that young Master Dick will survive," he said drolly. Without thinking, Dick rolled his eyes to the amusement of the flight attendant. She reached over and ruffled his hair.

"Well, I for one am happy to hear that," she said. "It isn't often that we get such a handsome passenger as you." Winking at Dick and giving Alfred a smile, she excused herself. 

"Time to go, Master Dick." As he spoke, Alfred handed Dick his small, carry-on bag. Dick took it and headed towards the front exit, hurrying several steps ahead of Alfred. No longer confined to an airline seat, Dick's natural exuberance could not be contained. He'd be seeing Bruce in another few hours, and if Alfred didn't suddenly decide that Dick was too tired after their long flight, then maybe he might be allowed to go out on patrol later that night. At the thought of going on patrol with Batman, Dick quickly made his way to the luggage return carousel, only to be forced to wait impatiently along with the other passengers for their bags.

A beautiful young woman with long, dark hair stood directly across the carousel from Dick. She wore a long, black overcoat and dark glasses. Dick couldn't help but think that the attractive lady was vaguely familiar. Abruptly, she caught his eye and smiled at him. Knowing he'd been staring, Dick felt his cheeks flush and immediately looked down. When he looked back up again, she was gone.

Shrugging, he put her out of his mind and waited restlessly for Alfred to finish collecting all of their bags. As soon as they had everything, they lugged their bags to the curb outside.

"Master Dick, while I go collect the car, I wish you to remain here with the luggage."

"Okay, Alfred," Dick agreed.

"And Master Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"I needn't remind you not to talk to strangers?"

"Aw, come on, Alfred!" Dick protested. "It's not like I'm just some little kid or anything."

"Forgive me, young sir," Alfred said with gentle irony. "How could I forget?" He placed his hand lightly on Dick's shoulder, unmindful of the boy's cross looks. "I shall be back shortly." Dick nodded, and jamming his hands into his jacket pockets, sat down on the largest of the suitcases. 

From his vantage point, Dick watched the comings and goings of Gotham's citizens. People in a hurry to leave. People in a hurry to arrive. He saw young couples taking a moment longer than necessary to kiss goodbye ("Yuck!" he muttered ducking his head.), and families laughing and hugging in reunion. He saw a boy about his own age run into the arms of his father, and laugh happily at being lifted high in the air.

Dick thought of Bruce. He didn't blame Bruce for being unexpectedly busy, or that he tended to forget about birthdays and other unimportant things like that. It was just that sometimes he wished...

His eyes traveled longingly back to the boy and his father. Before they were swallowed by the crowds, Dick saw the father place his hand warmly on his son's shoulder. Unbidden, Dick thought of his own father and mother, and of how happy they'd been together. 

His Dad would never have forgotten his birthday, Dick realized; however, as soon as the thought manifested itself, Dick tried to squelch it, experiencing a sudden stab of guilt.

A honking horn brought him back to the present. A taxi pulled up to the curb almost directly in front of him. "Hey, kid! How about moving out of the way?" a rough voice demanded. Dick instantly stood up to do as requested, but didn't get out of the way quickly enough. A heavy mass suddenly slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling. The back of his head struck the pavement, causing him to see stars temporarily.

"Hey, kid! Watch it!" a menacing growl warned. It sounded like the same angry voice he'd heard back onboard the plane. 

"Master Dick! Are you all right?"

Dick felt several hands helping him up. He looked up through unfocused eyes. A sharp-faced man, wearing a Fedora slung low over his forehead, was glaring down at him. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, Dick noted the ugly scar on the man's right cheek and the mean eyes that were glowering at him.

"Whadaya think you're doing? You almost got us killed there, kid!" The dark stranger gave Dick a closer look. "Hey, ain't you the same kid from the plane? The one who caused all that ruckus? What are you, some kinda troublemaker, or something?

Shaking his head and not knowing what else to say, Dick apologized. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to--"

"Yeah, well...just watch it, okay?" The sharp-faced man looked around in a sudden panic. "Hey! Where's my bag? Listen, you little punk, if this is some kinda con or somethin'--?"

"What--?" Dick could only stare back in confusion. "I--?"

But the man had stopped paying attention to him. Instead, his eyes fell on a small, dark leather carryall, and with a look of triumph, he grabbed it.

Yanking the taxi door open, he gave Dick a final glare. "Okay, pally...We'll just call it square this time." His expression turned menacing. "But I'd better not run into you again, got it?" With that, he got into the cab and slammed the door. Almost immediately, the car sped away, nearly running down a pair of pedestrians.

"Gosh, Alfred, I didn't mean to cause any trouble, honest," Dick said, feeling suddenly tired. The bump on his head hadn't helped matters any. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

"Of course, you did not, Master Dick," Alfred soothed. Shaking his head at the taxi as it disappeared into the airport traffic, he added, "Some people are just ill-mannered. Let us go home, young sir."

As Alfred started the car, Dick caught sight of the beautiful, dark-haired young woman signaling a taxi. He watched as she hurried through the densely packed airport crowds, moving with an almost catlike fluid grace.  As the taxi driver loaded her luggage in the trunk, Dick observed that she shook her head when the driver offered to stow a small carry-on bag as well. Dick watched as the driver opened the door for her, and as she slid into the back seat, still holding onto the carryall. 

Blinking eyes that were inexplicably growing heavier by the minute, Dick tried unsuccessfully to clear the cobwebs in his brain. There was something about her, he thought. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. His thoughts jumbled in confusion, Dick's eyes grew too heavy to stay open, and eventually the junior detective lost the battle. 

By the time Alfred negotiated the Bentley out of the airport and onto the highway, Dick was fast asleep.

****

Friday, March 21//5:45pm

The Trigate Motel

Tricorner neighborhood, Gotham City

****

Joey slammed the door on the face of the hotel manager without tipping first. "Buzz off, ya bum!" he growled. "You're lucky I'm even stayin' in this fleabag motel." Tossing the room key on the cheap nightstand, Joey hurriedly pulled the small, black leather case to him. 

"After today, Joey Messina will only stay in the very best. First class all the way!" Fingers trembling, he fiddled awkwardly with the bag's small combination lock. As soon as he ran through the combination, he tried to open it. The hasp held. Frowning, he tried again.

The lock still didn't budge.

"Come on, come on...!" he intoned nervously. Wracking his brains, Joey worked through the combination in his head: left 8--right 25--left 56. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Easy, pal," he muttered to himself. "Just take it nice'n easy." Sitting down on the sagging mattress, Joey took a deep breath and tried again. 

Nothing happened. 

Joey felt a surge of rage begin to consume him. He agitatedly rifled through one of the suitcases, ran his hands along the false bottom, and applied pressure at just the right points. Instantly, the bottom popped open, exposing a small arsenal: three different caliber handguns, one disassembled rifle with sniper scope, a few throwing stars, and several knives of varying sizes. He grabbed one with a particularly deadly edge.

Holding it carefully, he admired how the light played on the blade's lustrous surface. He became aware of his own eyes glaring back at him from the mirror-like finish. 

"Okay, it's up to you, pal," he murmured, addressing the knife. "If someone's playin' some kinda con, he'll wish he was never born."

With a violent eruption, Joey sliced the leather bag open and hurriedly tossed out its contents. "Underwear," he muttered. "Shaving cream...toothbrush...T-shirts..." He stopped, surveying the discarded contents. He carefully checked the clothing tags and finally sat back without clear understanding. All of his personal effects were there. Slowly, his labored breathing returned to normal.

"It's all here," he said, disbelievingly. Then why had the combination lock not opened, he wondered? "Musta dialed it wrong, I guess," he admitted with a shrug. "Yeah, that musta been what happened." Nodding to himself, Joey nervously reached for the ruined bag again. With slow, shaky fingers, he ran his hands along the bottom and pressed down on the outer edges.

The false bottom opened smoothly and cleanly, just like it always did. Joey closed his eyes in utter relief. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for since the plane had landed. Joey lifted the bottom of the carryall, and stared in blank confusion.

Slowly, as realization dawned in his eyes, he felt the same all-consuming fury that had taken a hold of him earlier. The hidden compartment was empty, except for a neatly handwritten note.

_"You should know by now that while the Cat's in town, the Rats should keep a **really** close watch on their cheese."_

Joey's head felt as if it were about to explode. **_Catwoman_**!!?? How had she found him? How?

"**_ARRRGGGHHH_**!!!!!" Joey let out a roar that was more animal than human. In a blind fury, he drove his knife over and over into the empty bag, shredding it into useless bits of leather, imagining his knife plunging repeatedly into Selina Kyle's breast. Half-crazed, he picked up and smashed anything that wasn't nailed down, utterly wrecking the room.

Unfortunately for the hotel manager, he picked this particular moment to walk in on Joey. Shocked by the scene of destruction before him, he opened his mouth to yell, but before he could get any words out, Joey hurled the knife at him. It was thrown with such force that it became impaled up to the hilt in the manager's Adam's apple. Thus, his words of protest literally died in his throat.

****

Friday, March 21/6:00pm

Kattuz Luxury Apartments

Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

Selina luxuriated in the hot, fragrant bath water. It had been a long day. _No, it had been a long week,_ she amended. Trailing that loser, Joey Messina, had not been her idea of a fun vacation. Still, she'd had her reasons--two million of them, she thought with a smile. And currently, they were waiting patiently for her in the bedroom--two million dollars worth of uncut diamonds--guarded by her favorite tabby, Sasha, a full-grown Bengal tiger.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and laughed. It was more of a purring sound from deep in her throat. Reaching next to her, she closed her fingers delicately around a long-stemmed wineglass.

"Here's to Joey Messina and his pack of rats," she said holding up the glass in a mock toast. "I hope they all rot in hell." With that, she tipped her head back and drank down the contents in a single gulp. Taking a deep, self-satisfied breath, Selina stood and stepped out of the tub. She wrapped a large, soft towel around herself and headed towards the bedroom.

She stopped at the door and waited for Sasha to acknowledge her presence. She walked slowly towards the giant cat, her hand held out in familiar greeting. "Hello, Sasha," she crooned softly, while gently stroking his large head. Sasha responded instantly to her touch, his loud purr rumbling forth from his throat, filling the room with its contented sound. "That's a good boy, Sasha." 

As if by magic, one of Sasha's favorite cat toys materialized in Selina's hand, a stuffed Batman. There were also a stuffed Penguin, Joker, Two-Face, and Riddler--all the Gotham rats who seemed hell-bent on getting in her way. Giving the stuffed Batman a slight squeeze, she tossed it to the corner of the room and waited patiently until Sasha pounced on it. She smiled affectionately as her giant tabby swatted the stuffed toy across the room. 

"Maybe one day, Sasha...I'll let you play with the real thing." Recalling the first time Batman had held her pinned down to the rooftop of a building, Selina's face softened. She remembered his closeness, the almost electric charge that had passed them. She'd felt herself respond to him, and from his expression, she was sure that he'd felt it, too. Their faces had been mere inches apart. Their lips so close as to be almost touching. Almost...

****

[8 Months prior] 

Saturday, August 25//2:15am

Rooftop, Gotham City Gem Exchange

****

A high-pitched childish voice suddenly interrupted them. "You got 'im, Batman! I knew you would!" They were jerked back to reality rather abruptly. Batman's bemused expression immediately hardened. 

"Let's go!" he'd ordered, pulling her roughly to her feet. Selina scowled at the memory, remembering his painful grip. "Robin! Did you tie the others securely?" Batman asked.

"Uh-huh! But one of 'em got away, Batman!"

"That's okay," Batman said, holding up a leather case. "We got the loot." He tossed it to Robin. "Check it out. Make sure it's all there." 

But Robin wasn't paying any attention to him, he was staring uncertainly at her. "You're a **_girl_**--!?" The boy looked amazed. 

"I'm glad one of you noticed, at least," Catwoman said sardonically. Batman twisted her arm in warning. "**_Owww_**! Hey, **_watch_** it, you big bully!" 

Robin's eyes widened behind his mask. "Batman...I thought we weren't s'posed to hurt girls?" 

The Catwoman laughed a deep-throated chuckle at the boy's comments. "You tell him, kid!" she'd said. Immediately Batman twisted her arm just a bit more. She gasped in pain. Gritting her teeth, she hissed, "You'll **_regret_** this, you big jerk!"

Ignoring her, Batman spoke in a cold, commanding voice. "Robin, I want you to go back and make sure that the rest of the gang is tied securely. Then I want you to call the GCPD and keep watch until they arrive."

"But I thought you wanted me to check the loot?" Robin protested.

"Don't worry. I'll see to that," Batman reassured him. 

"My, my," Catwoman murmured suggestively. "Aren't we clever. You get rid of Robin so that you and I can--" She stopped and grinned up him, her green eyes gleaming wickedly. "--well...you know."

"Batman, what's she talking about?" Robin asked.

"Robin, I gave you an order."

"That's right, little Robin," Catwoman echoed tauntingly. "Scram, so that the **_grownups_** can play--"

The next thing she knew, she was wearing a pair of Bat-shaped handcuffs. A wave of anger washed through her at the thought of being shackled, but Catwoman managed to tamp it down. Instead, she cocked a single eyebrow at Batman. "**_Ooh_**...handcuffs. How **_kinky_**," she murmured. Taking a step forward until their bodies were touching, she added huskily, "I have a whip..." 

"Batman...?" Robin began. "I don't understand--?"

"Robin, I **_gave_** you an order! **_Go_**! **_Now_**!" Robin stared at Batman hurt by his harsh tone. Slowly, he nodded and returned the bag containing the stolen gems to Batman, then turned on his heels looking glum. Batman watched him go for a brief moment, and then opened the bag. He raised a single eyebrow in surprise.

The gems had been replaced by ordinary rocks. He whirled on her angry at being fooled so completely. "Where are they?" He yelled. "What did you do with gems!?"

It was Catwoman's turn to be surprised. Her eyes widened at the sight of the rocks in the bag. Joey, she thought. The dirty rat had double-crossed her! He'd taken the gems and left her and the others to take the fall. She glared defiantly at the Dark Knight. "I don't what you're talking about! I'm the one with the handcuffs, remember?" 

Batman took a threatening step towards her, glowering dangerously from underneath the cowl. "The one who got away," he growled. "I want a name. Where can I find him?"

"The Catwoman never rats--!" she hissed. "--especially those who double-cross her! Those I take care of myself."

"I said I want a name," Batman repeated menacingly. He was holding her wrists painfully hard, hurting her. Catwoman flinched slightly, then raised her chin in defiance.

"Or what?" she sneered derisively. "Are you going to **_beat_** it out of me? And what about Junior over there? You've already hurt him once tonight. What will he think of his **_hero_**--" She practically spat out the word. "--if he sees him acting **_less than_** heroic?" Hesitating slightly, Batman glanced over to where Robin was standing guard in the shadows.

The next instant, she turned the tables. With Batman worried about Robin's exposure to her 'wicked ways'--Selina grinned at the memory; it was almost too sweet, really--she'd picked the handcuffs and waited for her opportunity. 

With Batman momentarily distracted by the boy's anguish, Catwoman took advantage of it, slipping from his grasp. Knowing that she didn't stand a chance against the two of them, she sprinted to the roof's edge and leaped...

****

Friday, March 21/6:30pm

Kattuz Luxury Apartments

Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

A low growl brought her back. Sasha held the toy Batman firmly between his teeth and was shaking it to the point where some of the stuffing was falling out. Smiling, Selina stretched out on the bed. "I know **_exactly_** how you feel."

She sat up and pulled the black bag to her. It was time to check out the day's take.

She calmly donned one of her 'working gloves'--a black leather glove with retractable razor sharp claws--and eyed the combination lock with narrowed eyes. With quick, surgical precision, Selina cut a lengthwise incision along the leather exterior. Smiling eagerly, she enlarged the opening and exposed the bag's contents.

One by one, Selina removed the items. As she did so, a feeling of dismay began to settle in the pit of her stomach. The bag contained a child-sized t-shirt, a pair of Superman pajamas, two pairs of Green Lantern Underoos, and a pair of Batman socks. "No accounting for taste," she murmured at this last item. 

Knowing the futility of it, she continued searching through the contents, until she reached the bottom. There, she found an antique wooden box with a carefully detailed and old-fashioned, circus wagon train carved in bas-relief on the lid. She ran her fingers gently over the carvings, amazed at its craftsmanship. 

She wondered how much she could get for it at a pawn shop, and just as quickly discarded the idea, feeling just a little bit chagrinned by her own greed. Lifting the lid open, she discovered more wooden carvings inside, individually encased in velvet. The small figurines were carved with the same superior artistry as the box: a circus ringmaster, an elephant, a bear, and--Selina smiled--a lion.

Reclining on the bed, Selina's smile dissolved. Obviously, back on the plane, when she believed she'd made the switch with Joey, she'd actually grabbed the wrong bag. She thought back to that particular moment on the plane... 

Seated two rows behind Joey, she'd waited for the right moment to make the switch during the flight; however, the moment never came. As they taxied to their gate, she knew that she had only a few seconds to make the switch; therefore, as soon as the plane came to a complete stop, she jumped up and hurried to the overhead compartment. 

Just as she was about to reach it, a small boy beat her to it. He opened the bin, and the next moment, all the items stowed in it came crashing down on top of him. She recalled Joey reaching for the leather bag first and the feeling of relief she'd felt when he'd grabbed the duplicate bag she'd planted in the storage compartment. 

Earlier that week, she'd broken into Joey's hotel room and gone through his things. She'd found his leather case and discovered the false bottom. Of course, the diamonds weren't there at the time. Joey might be a louse and a rat, but he wasn't entirely stupid.

Still, he'd double-crossed her on the gem heist over eight months ago, and it had taken Selina that long to carefully plan her payback. She knew that Joey was working on pulling yet another big-time fraud. Selina had to shake her head in reluctant admiration over his plan. It was ambitious in scope, and had just the right amount of subtle irony that appealed to her own sense of humor: When you swindle the swindlers, the cops aren't going to be called. 

Of course, the perp still had to contend with the displeasure of whoever the mark happened to be. Which in Joey's case, it was none other than the local Gotham City crime boss, Rupert Thorne. In the months that had followed her little falling out with Joey, the louse had moved on to what he obviously considered bigger and better things. He had finagled a spot in Rupert Thorne's mob as a bagman...

Now, he had devised a dangerous scheme to steal two million dollars worth of uncut diamonds that Thorne had arranged to smuggle into the country through Miami, where he maintained one of his legitimate shipping and importing businesses. Moreover, Joey planned to snatch the diamonds right from under the mob boss's nose. 

Selina wondered whom Joey had targeted as the fall guy. The rat would never plan such an elaborate scheme without first making sure that the fallout wouldn't land on his head. At the thought, Selina closed and covered her eyes and gave herself a mental kick. 

_I guess the note I left him wasn't one of my smartest ideas._

Sighing, Selina remembered how she had carefully inventoried all the items in Joey's leather carry-on bag, down to the size and make of his underwear. (That was something she didn't want to do again any time soon!) She had even duplicated the bag's false bottom, and just to ensure that Joey knew exactly who had double-crossed **_him_**, she'd left him a note.

She bit her lower lip. 

"Now the rat will probably finger me to Thorne, and the big goon and his boys will come gunning for me." She sighed. "And I don't even have the diamonds." Picking up the wooden lion figure, Selina held it carefully between her thumb and forefinger and admired its detail. Musing aloud, she wondered, "And just who, my little friend, do you happen to belong to?" At a sudden idea, she gently replaced the wooden lion into the box, and then turned her attention back to the small carryall.

She unzipped the inside pockets and ran her fingers meticulously through each. At last, she found it, an identification tag stored securely inside its own zippered pocket. Taking out the credit-card sized ID tag, Selina scanned the information:

Richard J. Grayson

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

A Cheshire cat smile played on her lips. "Pay dirt!"

****

Friday, March 21//7:30pm

Thorne Towers

Overlooking: Miller Harbor, Gotham City

****

Thorne's henchmen looked at each other first, and then turned their cold eyes at the new bagman, Joey Messina. He'd reported in a few minutes before with some cockamamie story that involved the Catwoman making off with the diamonds. 

Rupert Thorne hadn't exactly taken Joey at his words. At the moment, two of Thorne's enforcers held the errant bagman firmly between them, while another held a 9mm handgun just as firmly between Joey's wide, frightened eyes.

"Just say the word, Mr. Thorne," a quiet voice spoke. Joey spotted a well-dressed, pleasant-faced young man, a particularly vicious henchman that went by the street name of 'the Barber.' The old-fashioned straight razor the young man held up for Joey's benefit told the story. The joke on the street was that the Barber always left his '_customers_' with a '_very close shave_.' "It would be a pleasure to take care of this double-crosser for you, Boss." 

"She pulled a **_switch_**, I tell ya!" Joey pleaded, nervously eying the gleaming razor. The Barber's icy-blue eyes didn't flinch or leave Joey's face. "I **_swear_** I'm tellin' the **_truth_**!"

"Why should we believe you, Bagman?" another henchman growled. Joey wracked his brains to remember the thug's name, but it wouldn't come to him. It didn't matter. Joey knew that he was yet another of Thorne's street enforcers.

"Look, I can **_prove_** it!" Joey insisted. "I swear on my mother's grave, Mr. Thorne. I'm tellin' you the truth." 

"It's your **_own_** grave you should be worryin' about," still another thug muttered. 

Joey looked around, desperately trying to find some support from any of them. Just one friendly face. All he found were stony looks. Seeing his life slipping from his grasp, Joey spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words. "I tell you, the **_Cat_** did it! I got **_proof_**! In my pocket! I swear!"

Thorne glared at him for a long second and finally nodded. "Check it out." Immediately, the goon who had been holding the gun between Joey's eyes holstered his weapon and started patting him down. A moment later, he pulled out a folded piece of paper from Joey's pocket. The bagman let out a sigh of relief and was rewarded with a solid punch to the stomach.

"**_Oooof_**--!" he grunted.

"It ain't time for you to relax, Joey," the goon taunted. "We ain't done with you, yet." With that he punched Joey several more times in the gut, until he was doubled over in excruciating pain, struggling to breathe.

"That's enough, Mick," Thorne ordered. "Let's see what you've got." Mick nodded and took a step back at his boss's words. About to turn away, he whirled round once more and laid yet another solid blow into Joey's middle. "I said that's enough!" Thorne yelled.

"Sure, boss," Mick said smugly. He slapped Joey lightly on the cheek. "No hard feelin's, eh, Joey? You know how it is once you get started. It's like eatin' potato chips...you can't stop after only one." Grinning at his own joke, Mick handed Thorne the piece of paper. 

Thorne read it through once, and then read it through again. He glared at Joey. "How do I know this is on the level? How do I know Catwoman really wrote this? How do I know that you haven't double-crossed me and stashed the diamonds yourself?"

"I-I swear it's the God's truth--!" Joey stammered.

"You wouldn't know the truth if it came gift wrapped," Thorne retorted in disgust. "Get 'im outta here!" He jabbed his forefinger in the air, pointing at his best hit men. "Mick! Eraser! I want you guys to take care of this scumbag--**_now_**!"

"Gotcha, Boss!" Mick gave Joey a broad grin.

"Consider him fish food, Boss!" Eraser added. Both hitmen grabbed Joey roughly by the arms and started to head out, when a chilling voice stopped them.

"I wouldn't be so hasty, Mr. Thorne." All eyes turned towards the speaker, the Barber. He kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his straight razor. Feeling the tension in the room mount, he raised his eyes slowly, until he held Thorne's. "If Joey took the diamonds as you suggest, then having him 'taken care of' will mean that you'll probably never see the stones again."

"It wasn't me...please...!" Joey pleaded. Barber ignored him.

"May I see that note?" Barber asked. Nodding, Thorne passed it to Mick, who walked it to Barber. As he turned the flimsy note over in his hands, he calmly took out a pipe and deliberately lit it. He nodded occasionally, murmuring, "Um-hmmm..." He gave Joey a long measuring look, then turned to Thorne with a small wave of the piece of paper. "This is either an original, or an excellent forgery of Catwoman's handwriting."

"What do **_you_** know about it, Barber?" Mick demanded.

"Shut up, Mick!" Thorne shouted, and then repeated, "What do you know about it, Barber?"

"You hired me to **_make_** it my business to know, Mr. Thorne. I studied the Catwoman's M.O. She likes to steal from other crooks, because she knows that it is unlikely the theft will go reported."

"What's your point?" Thorne asked impatiently.

"She likes to leave little calling cards like this after a job." Barber held Thorne's eyes calmly. On the other hand, Thorne's demeanor went from impatient to explosive. 

"That's it! I want her dead!" Thorne walked up to Mick and Eraser. "I want you two clowns to find her hideout and stake it out! If she takes so much as takes a single step outside, you ice her, y'hear? Ice her **_good_**!" Barber's quiet voice stopped them.

"That may still not be such a good idea, Mr. Thorne," Barber said softly. "The Catwoman isn't just some dame off the street. She's what the local DA is calling a 'super criminal-mastermind.' She's even given the Bat the slip a time or two." 

"Yeah...? So--?" Thorne began. The Barber held his hand up for indulgence. The others watched in awe at the young killer's unprecedented familiarity with their boss. Casually flipping the razor closed, he hid it in his inside jacket pocket. Reaching for a silver-tipped cane, he stood and walked around the table, showing a pronounced limp. Finally, he stopped in front of Joey. He glanced at the prisoner and gave him a once over. Sneering slightly, he turned and faced Thorne.

"The Catwoman's reputation doesn't come entirely because of her looks." At his words, some of the others leered in obscene appreciation.

Mick ran his fingers down the length of his pistol. "I'd like to get my hands on her and show her a thing or two--!"

"That's enough!" Thorne shouted. "We don't have time for games! Barber, if you got something to say, then say it! We're wastin' time."

The Barber turned his icy glare on Joey. "The Catwoman doesn't plan her heists on a whim, Mr. Thorne. She plans them very carefully. Then she executes them with military precision. She usually works alone, but every now then she has been known to take on a partner. She's even recruited a whole gang for a particular job." He paused and held Joey's eyes. "Isn't that true, Joey?" he asked.

"What?" Joey seemed to snap out of a daze. He'd only been paying half-attention to the Barber, as the pain coming from his midsection was currently taking up most of his waking consciousness. "I didn't get that," he muttered.

"I said that sometimes the Catwoman has been known to take on a partner," the Barber repeated.

"Huh--?" Joey was beginning to break out in a sweat. "H-How should **_I_** know?"

"Word on the street is that eight months ago, you double-crossed the Cat, and now she's out for payback. Isn't that so, Joey?" 

Joey looked around in a panic. "W-Well, what if it **_is_**? I-I didn't have nothing to do with her snatching the diamonds. I did my part on the square! I went to Miami and did the pick up just like I was told to. Then I got on a flight back to Gotham--again, just like I was supposed to. I don't know how or when the Cat did it. I never even laid eyes on her! The first I knew about the switch was when I checked the bag back at my hotel room."

"Your hotel room?" the Barber echoed.

"Yeah."

"Joey, why didn't you report here to Thorne Towers as soon as you arrived in town?" Joey opened his mouth as if to answer, but the Barber beat him to it. "I'll tell you why. So that you could make your own switch in the privacy of your hotel room."

"No! That's not true!"

"You've worked with her in the past, Joey," the Barber continued. "You knew about her propensity to leave calling cards behind after a heist." He took a step closer to Joey. "What did you do, Joey? Did you write that note and plant it on yourself?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Joey squealed. "That sounds like a plot out of a comic book!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why would Catwoman suddenly steal the diamonds, Joey? She's operated out of Gotham City for a few years now, and she's never tried to horn in on any of Mr. Thorne's action. So why now, Joey?" He didn't wait for Joey to answer. "I'll tell you why, Joey. It's because it wasn't Catwoman who stole the diamonds. You did it yourself and stashed them away some place."

"No! That ain't so! I swear!" Joey babbled. "Look, it's true that I did pull a double-cross on her once. And that maybe she's out for payback. But I swear that it wasn't me who took those diamonds, Mr. Thorne. She did it, and now she's trying to put the finger on me." Thorne looked like he might actually be starting to believe him. "It's true! She's doing it 'cause when I **_am-scrayed_** with the entire loot from the heist we worked together, she ended up taking the fall."

Joey laughed a little nervously. "She had to keep a real low-profile for a few months on account of Batman. That gave me the time to move on to other things."

"Like join my operation," Thorne stated. "Weasel your way into my good graces. Earn my trust." Joey nodded somewhat reluctantly.

"Yes, sir...something like that."

"Barber, what do you suggest we do with this mug?" Thorne asked.

"I suggest we use him, Mr. Thorne. You know...pick his brains. He's worked with the Catwoman before. He might know what she'd do next. Where she'd hide the loot until things cool down."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Thorne!" Joey agreed with pathetic eagerness. "I could do that. I worked with her for almost three months--practically lived with her. I got to know almost everything about her--even her favorite late night pizza delivery joint." 

Nodding, Thorne took the Barber aside to momentarily speak with him in private. "Barber, I want you find the Cat and get her to tell you where she's stashed the rocks."

"Don't worry, Boss," the Barber said. "I'll only cut her a little at time until she squeals." He grinned, an expression completely devoid of any humanity. 

Thorne felt a chill shoot down his back at the sight. There was a rumor that the Barber had been a member of the US Army Special Forces during Desert Storm, but had been court-martialed and dishonorably discharged for torturing several Iraqi POWs under his care. Thorne heard that he'd actually skinned them alive. Shuddering, Thorne added, "Once she squeals, I want you to keep on cutting until she can't steal from me ever again!" 

"You got it, Boss."

Nodding, Thorne slapped him lightly on the arm. "Oh, and Barber. When you're done with Catwoman, I want you to do the same thing to Joey." He shook his head regretfully. "Anybody that brings that kind of heat on the organization, don't deserve to live and breathe the same air we do." He stopped, his whole body trembling with emotion. "That boy wormed his way into our hearts and our trust, and now look at how he's paid us back."

The Barber nodded in understanding and limped back to Joey. Eyeing the two goons that still held him fast between them, he signaled that they release him. Not ready to take his orders, both men looked towards Thorne for confirmation that they should indeed release Joey. Anxious to see them leave, Thorne made 'shooing' motions, indicating he wanted them gone.

Within minutes, Thorne's executive conference room was empty except for him. He sat alone in pensive silence, ruminating over how different things were now in Gotham City than when he first started running numbers.

That had been back in the old southeast part of town, a place rampant with speakeasies, prostitutes, and drug dealers. It had all seemed so much simpler then. A guy who was willing to work and follow orders could go far. He, himself, had started at the bottom, running errands for anyone who was willing to pay him at first. 

Then he moved up to numbers running and protection, only to be suddenly shut down by a glory-seeking cop named Gordon and a crusading District Attorney, Harvey Dent. Dent--that creep had it in for Thorne almost from the start, working night and day it seemed to shut him down at every opportunity.

Thorne grinned suddenly, a wicked gleam in his eye. "But we showed **_him_**, didn't we?" he murmured. Thorne had arranged for the attack on Harvey Dent by a little weasel named Tony Zucco who used acid as his weapon of choice. The attack on Dent happened during the trial, and Dent was never the same again.

At the thought of the aftermath of the Harvey Dent hit, Thorne scowled. Unfortunately, the acid attack had the unforeseen consequence of giving birth to that psycho criminal mastermind known as 'Two Face.' And ever since then, the crazies had been moving into Gotham City and Thorne's turf. Frustrated, he pounded his fist into his open palm. 

Thorne used to be the most feared crime boss on the East Coast, but now, with weirdoes like the Joker and Two-Face running around, horning in all over Gotham City, taking on some of the best talent in the business for their own gangs, Thorne's empire was slowly being eroded. In addition, having Batman around to put heat on his operation wasn't helping any.

Catwoman heisting his diamonds was the last straw. _Three years_, he fumed! For three solid years he'd carefully planned and executed the whole operation himself, ironed out all the problems, and finally carried it through to what should have been a successful conclusion.

He thought of all the marks he'd called in to smuggle one ton of pure cocaine into the country. It took him close to nine months to distribute it to suppliers and dealers all around the country. He thought of the intricacies involved in money laundering, of the many overseas bank accounts and phony business fronts that the funds were filtered through. 

Finally, Thorne thought about the shadowy figures he'd dealt with in order to purchase shoulder-mounted missile launchers. It had taken three separate purchases in three different locations spread across three different states, but Thorne had finally succeeded in purchasing nine missile launchers and three-times as many missiles.

As soon as he put them up for sale to the highest bidder, he'd been inundated by offers. A group operating out of Qurac offered the most intriguing bid: six million dollars in uncut diamonds, to be paid in three equal installments--almost six times the amount that he'd paid for them from the arms dealer. This last batch had been the final payment.

Thorne needed those diamonds to finance a move to another town--Bludhaven, maybe. Or Keystone City. Some place where the mob still held sway over crooked politicians, and the police department might still have a few rotten apples that could be bought for a song. Some place where the crazies and super-powered weirdoes hadn't as yet gained a foothold.

"Someplace away from here..."

****

Friday, March 21/8:00pm

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Dicky stirred in his sleep, the soothing strains of music tickling his subconscious. He could feel the first faint stirrings of wakefulness, and fought against them, immersing himself in the distant sounds of laughter and voices shouting, "Happy Birthday, Dicky!" 

He waved happily at the circus performers and other well-wishers as he passed by them on the way to the Big Top. Pop Haly and Elinore each hugged him in greeting, while Simba the lion and Bernardo the bear paid the Birthday boy a special tribute. With their trainers standing proudly by, the animals bowed before Dicky in homage as he passed by their cages. Giggling in delight, Dicky ran on to the main circus tent.

After the bright spring day outside, the boy's eyes had to first adjust to the relative gloom of the tent's interior. Almost immediately, he spotted his parents standing arm in arm in center ring, bowing to the thunderous applause around them. Smiling, they waved at him to join them. Needing no further encouragement, he ran into his mother's arms, relishing in the warmth of her embrace. The next instant, he was being lifted by his father's strong arms a pair of broad shoulders.

"Happy Birthday, son," his father called.

"Happy Birthday, little Robin," his mother said with a smile. Grinning from ear to ear, Dick felt as if he wanted to take the moment, put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon, and store it in his heart. He had never felt happier in his entire life than he did at this second.

The next instant, he was standing alone on the abandoned fairgrounds, surrounded by a shroud-like fog.

"Mom? Dad? Where are you? I can't see you!" he cried. "Please...Mom...Dad! Come back! I didn't mean to do it! I promise to be good. I promise--!"

"Dick...Dick...!" The insistent voice worked its way into his consciousness. "Dick, wake up, son--"

"Mom...Dad...?" Dick sat up in bed, looking around wildly. "Where--?" He was back in his own room in Wayne Manor.

"Dick, it's all right." Bruce sat down on the side of the bed and reached for him. Dick wanted to be left alone and tried half-heartedly to fend him off. "You were having a bad dream, son," Bruce said quietly. "It was just a dream..."

At Bruce's words, Dick felt completely spent. He leaned into his guardian's embrace, allowing him to hold him for a moment. "Just a dream," Dick whispered. He buried his face in Bruce's chest. "They're gone," he sobbed. "Really gone..." Dick felt Bruce's arms tighten protectively around him.

"They're never really gone, son," Bruce said quietly. "Not as long as we keep them in our hearts. Do you understand?" Dick shook his head. "I'm not sure that I can really explain it myself," Bruce admitted. "Alfred's much better at this. He's the one who told me in the first place."

"Alfred?" Dick asked.

"Uh-huh."

"What did he say?" 

Bruce shrugged slightly. "It was a long time ago, Dick. I'd almost forgotten about the whole thing until this very moment." Bruce held him quietly for a while, recalling his then-guardian's words. His face softening in a half-smile, he looked down at Dick.

"I remember how sad I was that my parents were no longer with me. Thinking that they were gone forever," Bruce said quietly.

"That's how I feel all the time," Dick responded, his voice low.

"But I was wrong to feel that way, Dick, and so are you," Bruce insisted.

"Huh? I don't understand." Dick looked up at his guardian. His emotions were warring with confusion over Bruce's cryptic words, but openly trusting that this man never spoke anything less than the truth to him.

"Don't you see, Dick? Physically my mother and father are gone--just like your Mom and Dad. But in here--" He paused, pointing at his chest. "--in my heart they're still alive. Just like your Mom and Dad are still alive in **_your_** heart." At Dick's perplexed expression, Bruce tried again. "Dick, what's in our hearts are all our memories of everyone we've ever loved. Our memories are what keep our loved ones alive for us."

Dick nodded slowly, beginning to understand.

"But sometimes it's awfully hard to remember." Looking down, Dick spoke in a small voice. "Like, sometimes I can't even remember how my mom sounded in the morning when she woke me up. Or even how my dad's hands felt around my wrists when he caught me." 

"The best way to remember, Dick, is to talk to others about them," Bruce said. "Son, any time you feel like it, I'm here to listen."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart."

"Alfred, too?"

"Yes, Master Dick. Alfred, too." They both turned at the urbane voice behind them. "Master Bruce, Master Dick, it's eight o'clock. Your guests will be arriving soon, sirs."

"Guests?" Dick asked.

"Don't tell me you forgot about your birthday already, chum?" Bruce teased. 

"You remembered?" Dick threw himself happily at Bruce and hugged him hard around the neck.

"Happy Birthday, Dick." 

"Sir, the musicians have finished setting up, as have the caterers. I myself must head back downstairs to ensure that the temporary staff does not abscond with the silver."

Dick giggled at Alfred's comments, showing no signs of the earlier storm clouds. Bruce ruffled the boy's dark hair. "You do that, Alfred," he said with a smile. As Alfred turned to leave, Dick suddenly remembered his overnight case.

"Alfred! Wait! I want to show Bruce what Pop Haly and the others gave me for my birthday. Did you put my stuff away?"

"I'm afraid that I have not had the opportunity to unpack as yet. I placed the luggage in the downstairs storage closet for later. And I'm afraid, young sir, that you do not have time to go rummaging through luggage at the moment--"

"Aw, gee," Dick muttered.

"--As your guests will be here soon!" At that moment, the doorbell rang. "Speaking of which--?" Leaving the rest hanging, Alfred moved unhurriedly to answer the front door.

As soon as Alfred left, Bruce stood, and in an unusual display of playfulness, he picked Dick up and twirled him to the floor. Patting him on the bottom, he added, "Now, hurry up and get dressed, kiddo. We have some serious partying to do tonight!" Happily, Dick rushed to do as told.

****

Friday, March 21/9:55pm

Outside Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

The party inside had been going steadily for almost two hours. The happy sounds of children's laughter mingled oddly with the soft, soothing strains of a string quartet. Catwoman was perched on the sturdy limb of a giant oak, the lone sentinel on the mansion's immaculate, park-like grounds. She checked her watch and frowned. It was almost 10:00pm.

Catwoman had been casing the mansion for almost an hour. At first, she had been surprised that all the cars parked out on circular drive were there for a child's birthday party--_At Wayne Manor_, she wondered? _I thought Bruce Wayne only threw wild orgies and conducted virgin sacrifices_. 

Of course, like everyone else in Gotham, she'd heard that Wayne had been granted custody of a young boy sometime in the previous year, following the tragic deaths of the boy's parents. 

Then nothing: No articles, no pictures, no TV news reports. A complete news blackout. The story had been buried before it ever had a chance to take life. Then, again like everyone else in Gotham, she'd promptly forgotten about it.

With these extraneous thoughts flashing in the back of her mind, Catwoman aimed her binoculars through a pair of drawn curtains and adjusted her earpiece. Earlier that evening, she'd planted a micro-transceiver on the outside windowpane. Within minutes, she shifted her leather carryall into a more comfortable position on her shoulder, and balancing perfectly on the tree limb leaned over slightly to better see and hear. 

She watched as an adult--Capt. Gordon of the GCPD--blindfolded a small child. Smiling, Gordon handed the dark-haired boy what looked like a donkey's tail, and then spun him round three times. When he was released, the little boy stumbled uncertainly in the wrong direction. 

"Dicky, you're so cold, you're freezing!" several children teased. Dicky changed directions and proceeded, still a bit unsure.

"That's it! You're getting warm!" the youngsters shouted gleefully.

"Dicky, you're hot! Hot!" They cried out in excited anticipation. 

Catwoman watched as 'Dicky' followed his friend's shouts of encouragement and hesitantly pinned the tail on the donkey's nose. This resulted in the other children breaking out in uproarious laughter. As the boy removed his blindfold, they were pointing and shouting in ridicule at his expense. 

Catwoman grimaced at the children's 'good-hearted' teasing. "That's why some animals eat their young," she muttered and shrugged. _Ah, well, not my problem_. She watched with just a twinge of empathy as Dicky, after an initial stricken look, joined his friends in self-deprecating laughter. "That's it, kid," she said in approval. "Don't **_ever_** let 'em see it hurts--no matter what." 

Unconsciously, she thought back to her own painful childhood, and the cruel taunts of the other tenement children. Cries of 'fatty' and 'ugly' followed her on her long, lonely trek to school. As did, 'Your mama's a drunk and a whore!' and 'Your daddy's nothing but a stinkin' convict!' 

To Catwoman's surprise, an older girl ran up to Dicky and hugged him playfully. As she did so, the rest of the children gathered round him, slapping him on the back. 

"Way to go, Dicky," a little girl said shyly.

"That was **_awesome_**, Dicky!" the older girl exclaimed.

"Yeah, even if you pinned the tail on the donkey's **_wrong end_**!" a boy needled. The children broke into yet another bout of amused laughter. This time, Dicky joined them readily.

"And how about **_you_**, Timmy?" Dicky retorted. "You almost pinned the tail on **_Alfred_**!"

Over the children's roars, Timmy managed to come back with, "Yeah, but at least, it was on the **_right_** end!" With that Dicky and Timmy collapsed on each other in helpless laughter, holding onto one another to remain standing. 

It was getting late, Catwoman realized. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was past ten already. "Don't these kids have bedtimes?" she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Someone oughtta call Child Protective Services." 

Gordon, meanwhile, had dragged a large sack over to the boy, and with great fanfare, held it open for him. Dicky eagerly closed his eyes, reached in, and pulled out a prize. Whatever he got, it seemed to please him, because his small face lit in a bright smile. At that moment, something else caught his attention, because the boy separated himself from the crowd of kids, and running off shouted, "Bruce! Lookit what I won!"

The next instant, Bruce Wayne, carrying the small boy in his arms, appeared at the window. Giving Dicky a brief hug, he lowered him to the floor and shook hands with Gordon. Dicky waved at the older girl Catwoman had noticed earlier. "Babs! Lookit what I won! It's so cool! A Superman action figure!" 

Catwoman watched as 'Babs' took the prize and dutifully admired it. From Catwoman's vantage point, the girl appeared rather plain. She had large unflattering glasses that kept slipping down her petite nose, and bright carrot-orange hair worn in unattractive braids. Still, even from this distance, Catwoman could see that Dicky was completely smitten by the older girl. In the shadows, Catwoman allowed herself a small smile.

The mournful wail of an approaching siren caught her attention. Instantly, Catwoman dropped lightly to the ground and melted into the night. As she moved, the jubilant voices coming from inside, began to recede. She came across a large van parked outside the delivery entrance with a sign on either side proclaiming, 'Dinner at Eight Caterers: Leave the cooking to us!' 

An idea suddenly formulating, she checked the rear-end and found the van doors unlocked. "How careless," she murmured in mock disapproval. She climbed in and quickly cased it. Smiling, Catwoman found what she was looking for, a black and white server's uniform. She shoved it into her carryall, and satisfied, emerged from the back of the truck and again slipped into the shadows that surrounded Wayne Manor. 

A few minutes later, she found a set of glass double doors. She tried them. Locked.

Shrugging, Catwoman unsheathed her right claws, and placing the long, knife-like nails against the glass doors, she turned her hand in a circular motion. Stopping, she gently pulled her hand straight back, a small circular piece of glass caught firmly in her claws. 

****

End of Part 1


	2. Part 2

**_Summary_**: Dicky's birthday party comes to an abrupt end. The night provides a cloak for various players as they begin to move into position. Batman enters the game. But who exactly **_is_** Barber?

**_Note: _**Thanks to Sandra and Alexandra for the beta-help.

**_Rating_**: PG-13

**_Disclaime_**r: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

**_Copyright_**: March 2003

**** 

Payback 

By Syl Francis

****

Friday, March 21/10:45pm

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Barbara and Dicky listened from behind the door that led into the study, which 'just happened' to be slightly ajar. The arrival of the GCPD squad car signaled the end of Dicky's birthday party. It didn't really matter though, Dicky thought philosophically. The party had been practically over anyway. 

They'd already played all the neat parlor games and were starting on the lame-o ones like Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey; Dicky had made a wish and blown out all ten candles at once; he'd cut the cake and opened his presents. Besides, it was getting late, and Dicky still held out hope that Bruce might let him patrol with him tonight. 

After all, it **_is _**my birthday, he added to himself. Therefore, when Bruce and Captain Gordon excused themselves with their late-night caller, Dicky and Barbara waited just long enough for the grownups to head towards the study, before following them. Now, Dicky was crouched just below doorknob level, while Barbara was immediately above him. Risking getting caught, the youngsters nevertheless dared to peek through the opening.

"Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n." The large, rumpled man spoke in a gruff voice. ("That's Sgt. Bullock," Barbara whispered in Dicky's ear.) "But I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible. We got us a stiff at the Trigate Motel. The crime scene boys arrived there about an hour ago--"

"--An hour ago?" Gordon interrupted. "Why wasn't I called immediately, Sergeant?"

"Didn't think it was necessary to interrupt your evening 'til we had something, Cap'n," Bullock replied.

"**_And_**--?" Gordon demanded, his voice frosty. "What **_do_** you have for me?" 

"According to the medical examiner, we have us a possible homicide. Probably occurred sometime earlier this evening between five and six pm."

"And what makes the ME think it's a homicide?" Gordon asked. Bullock answered in the same, unruffled, gravely voice.

"'Cause the stiff's got a six-inch blade sticking outta his throat. Me? I wouldn't rule it a '**_possible_** homicide' exactly. I'd say it's more likely a '**_definite_**' homicide."

As Dicky watched, he saw Gordon nod at the information. He spotted Bruce sitting casually on a leather easy chair and instantly ducked back behind the door. 

"Do you have any leads on possible suspects yet?" Gordon asked.

"That's why I came here to personally report the homicide to you, Cap'n," Bullock said. "The room was registered to a Tommy Vignola. And guess what? Our Tommy-boy is also known as Tommy Santini, AKA Tommy Josefino, AKA Josefino Marko, AKA Joey Marko, AKA Joey Messina.

At the name, Dicky exchanged a shrug and a blank look with Barbara. He had never heard of Joey Messina, and therefore, had no clue what all the excitement was about. Quickly, he took another peek through the door. Both Gordon and Bruce were staring at Bullock.

"Joey Messina?" Gordon asked. "We've been after that scum since the Museum of Gemology heist. If I remember correctly, he was in pretty tight with the Catwoman at the time, although if my 'sources' are correct, he double-crossed her." 

Dicky remembered the museum heist. That was the first time he and Batman had tangled with the feline femme fatale. He wondered if by '**_sources_**' Gordon meant Batman.

"Not just that, Jim." Bruce spoke for the first time. "The papers also said that afterwards, Messina was suspected in two murders, involving known fences who dealt only in museum quality merchandise, usually for private collectors who didn't ask too many questions. The papers theorized that once Messina sold the stolen items, he killed the fence in order to get rid of any possible witnesses."

"That ain't all, Cap'n," Bullock added smugly. "Word on the street is that Messina is now a bagman for the Thorne mob. And he was seen less than a week ago down in the Miami area. Probably on a little errand for his boss."

"Yes," Gordon said thoughtfully. "Rupert Thorne has some so-called 'legitimate' business holdings in the Dade County area--shipping and warehouses among other things. If Messina was down there recently on a job, then it's just possible that our Mr. Thorne may be using his '**_legitimate_**' shipping business for an '**_il-_**legitimate' smuggling operation." 

"If that's so, Cap'n," Bullock added, "then we might just bag us an even **_bigger _**fish than Joey Messina."

"We may just, Sergeant," Gordon agreed thoughtfully, and then added brusquely, "Okay, I've heard enough. Bruce, I'm going to have to ask you for a favor. Will you see to it that Barbara gets home safely?"

"I'll do you one better, Jim," Bruce replied. "Why don't you just let Barbara sleepover? You're probably not going to be home for hours--if at all tonight." At Bruce's unexpected words, Dicky looked up excitedly at Barbara. Smiling, she hugged him to her, and they both leaned in closer to listen.

"Bruce, I wouldn't think of imposing--" Gordon protested.

"Imposing?" Bruce answered with a genuine laugh. "You'd be doing me a favor! After all the excitement of the birthday party, I doubt if Alfred or I will ever get Dick to go to bed tonight! On the other hand, Barbara always has a way of getting him to do as she asks." At this, the men shared a knowing smile. Dicky's crush on Barbara was probably one of the World's Worst Kept Secrets.

"Well...if you say that it won't be an imposition," Gordon said.

"Far from it," Bruce insisted. "Besides, she'll be safer here in the mansion than alone at home."

"And since she's stayed overnight before in order to baby-sit with Dicky," Gordon added with a nod, "Barbara told me that the last time she was forced to sleepover, Alfred asked her to just keep an overnight bag here. Just in case." 

It was Bruce's turn to look surprised. "He **_did_**?" he said, and then quickly recovered. "Oh, yeah...right! He did." Why am I always the last one to know, he grumbled? "I mean...Barbara's always welcome here." 

"Thanks, Bruce," Gordon said. "I owe you one. Sgt. Bullock, let's head out." 

The three men started for the door. Realizing that they were about to be caught, the children rushed headlong down the hallway, skidding out-of-control as they rounded the first corner. Practically flying down the highly glossed hardwood floors, neither checked ahead for obstacles and as a result, they both went careening into one of the temporary staff, who'd been hired for the evening to help the caterers with the serving.

As one, the three went down in a tangled heap. At the same time, a silver-serving tray overflowing with dirty dishes that the temp hire had been carefully balancing over her shoulder, went airborne and struck the floor with a loud, resounding crash. The sharp, tinkling sounds of glassware shattering into a million pieces echoed for what seemed several minutes.

"Oh, no!" the young woman groaned. 

"**_Dick_**!" Bruce said sharply.

"I'm so sorry," the young woman moaned over and over. "I'm **_so_** sorry!"

"Master **_Richard_**!" Alfred sounded shocked.

"I don't know how I'll ever **_pay_** for it!" she continued, awkwardly getting to her hands and knees and surveying the damage.

"**_Barbara_**!" Gordon appeared thunderous. Both children looked sheepish.

"Please...I'm so sorry! I swear I didn't see them--!" The flustered woman didn't glance up. Fumbling on hands and knees, she attempted to clean up the mess.

At the young woman's pleas, the children's expressions turned guilty. "Ma'am," Dick began. "It's not your fault. We're the ones who--"

"--We're the ones who ran into you," Barbara finished.

"Uh-huh," Dick agreed. "We're awfully sorry." 

The young woman, however, wasn't listening. She was too busy muttering apologies under her breath while trying to pick up every piece of broken glass with her bare hands. To stop her, Alfred walked up to her, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and helped her to feet. She kept her eyes averted, carefully staring down at her feet.

"Miss?" Alfred spoke in gentle tones. "There is absolutely no need for you to apologize." The young woman slowly raised frightened green eyes, which under normal circumstances might have been particularly attractive; however, she hid her eyes behind a pair of thick-lensed, owl-like glasses that made them appear abnormally huge. In addition, she had no makeup and wore her black hair tied back in a severe, unflattering bun. Overall, her appearance was that of an extremely plain, ordinary woman.

"I-I'm so sorry about this. Please, don't fire me. I need the money--"

"No one is going to fire you, young lady," Alfred said soothingly. "This was an accident, pure and simple. An accident for which you are entirely blameless. Now, why don't you tell us your name?"

"Angie." She spoke barely above a whisper.

"You've had a nasty spill, Miss Angie. Why don't you go into the kitchen and pour yourself a nice cup of tea?" Hesitating slightly, Angie nodded and turned to leave.

"The kitchen's the other way," Dick said helpfully, pointing in the opposite direction. Nodding, Angie ducked her head as if to hide a blush, and hurriedly headed in the correct direction.

As soon as Angie had disappeared down the corridor leading to the vast manor kitchens, Alfred turned on his heel and pinned Dick and Barbara with a look. "However, you two young miscreants are far from guiltless; therefore, Master Bruce, Capt. Gordon, with your permission, sirs, I shall endeavor to mete out the appropriate punishment."

Without hesitation, both men gave their nod of approval.

"I leave the matter entirely in your capable hands, Alfred," Bruce said easily. 

"As do I," Gordon complied. "Young lady, if I had the time, I'd take you over my knee and give you a good spanking. But right now, I'm needed at Headquarters." He shook his head in a father's typical 'This is the last straw/I wash my hands of you' gesture.

Both Dick and Barbara glared at their respective parent. Barbara, because her father was always so busy that oftentimes he forgot to carry out a threatened punishment; Dick, because he knew that whatever punishment Alfred gave out would be far worse than anything Bruce could ever divine. In the end, both youngsters dropped their heads in defeat and accepted the inevitable.

****

Friday, March 21/10:45pm

Kattuz Luxury Apartments

Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

"How do you know this is the Catwoman's lair?"

"How do I **_know_**--?" Joey was hunched over the doorknob, attempting to pick the lock. "I told you a million **_times_**! I worked real close with her on the museum heist. She has safe houses all over the city. But see, she has a thing about **_cats._** So, no matter how many other places she has, if she wants to feel **_really_** safe, Catwoman always ends up here--the Kattuz Luxury Apartments." 

He felt the lock give with a soft **_~click!~_** Giving Barber a smug grin, Joey opened the door, and with an exaggerated flourish, waved Barber in ahead of him.

"A cat burglar with a real fetish for cats," Barber mused. "That's not something you hear about every day."

"Tell me about it. She's always rescuing cats from all around the city. She even breaks into people's homes if she doesn't think that their cats are being treated right."

"She sounds a little strange," Barber conceded. "Strange--but in a nice sort of way."

"Strange--you got **_that_** right. One night, when me and the boys were supposed to meet her to go over the final plans for the museum job, she scared the hell out of us when she introduced us to her new **_tabby_**--a full-grown Bengal tiger that she'd rescued from some roadside circus." Joey suddenly looked nervous. "Hey...what if she still **_has_** it?"

"Don't worry. I've got it under control," Barber reassured him. Joey felt anything but reassured. He started backing away towards the exit. 

"Naw...you ain't gettin' **_me_** to toss this joint," Joey whined. "I tell ya, it ain't **_safe_**! This broad's **_crazy_**! She's probably got a whole--whatchacallit--**_menagerie_** by now!"

"And **_I_** told **_you_** that I've got it under control," Barber said menacingly. "Now shut up and look for the bag. Or do you want me to shut you up permanently?" 

Shaking his head nervously, Joey recalled how easily he'd killed the hotel manager, his favorite knife buried up to the hilt in the super's throat. _I shoulda got it back_, he berated himself. But he'd been unable to touch it, not with the old guy's eyes staring back at him. 

Next, he saw himself with his own vocal cords sliced open, his eyes staring up unseeing. He shivered suddenly and glanced over at the baby-faced, cold-blooded killer. Even though today Joey's body count had just been increased by one, he knew that he was an amateur when compared to a professional like the Barber.

"Okay...okay, b-but you check the backrooms, 'cause I ain't goin' in there," Joey said. Nodding, the Barber started towards the bedroom, his limp slightly more pronounced than usual. Joey glared at his retreating back, and sensing an opportunity, grabbed a heavy candelabrum, and sprang at Barber from behind.

The next instant, Joey found himself on his back, staring up at the Barber's ice-cold blue eyes. Worse, the metal tip of Barber's cane was buried in his larynx, choking him. Joey struggled helplessly under the unrelenting pressure, unable to breathe.

"Please...!" he choked. Barber let up just enough to allow Joey to gasp for air.

"You're nothing but a lousy, backstabbing, chicken-livered, dirty double-crosser who'd probably sell out his own **_mother_**!" Unexpectedly, Barber broke out in an amused grin and stepped back. "I **_like_** that." Joey sat up uncertainly.

"What--?"

"It'll make killing you later all the more fun." 

Joey's eyes widened and his forehead broke out in a sweat. "L-Look, this is all some big misunderstanding. Honest! I-I'll do anything you ask--**_any_**thing! Just please--don't **_kill_** me...**_please_**." By then Joey was on his knees, sweat breaking out from every pore on his body.

Barber's amused expression turned cold.

"Get up," he snapped. "Rats like you are a dime a dozen. You have no loyalty to anyone but yourself, and you don't know the meaning of honor. Mr. Thorne took you into his organization and entrusted you with a real important job. And what did you do? You tried to stab him in the back--"

"What--?! No! I swear--!" Joey blubbered.

"--Only Catwoman duped you first." Barber placed the tip of his cane on Joey's chin and forced him to look up. "You have only one chance to live past midnight, Joey--recover those diamonds and finish the job you were paid to do." Barber removed the cane from Joey's chin and slowly walked around him. Suddenly grabbing Joey by the hair, Barber held the straight razor along his neck. "Do we understand each other?"

About to nod, Joey remembered the straight razor and thought better of it; instead, he croaked out, "Yeah...I understand."

"Good." The next moment, Barber unceremoniously shoved him aside. "Get up, Dirt-bag, and open that bedroom door." Nodding in defeat, Joey stood unsteadily and somehow made his way to the bedroom. Listening against the door, he took a deep breath, and slowly turned the knob.

Unknown to Joey, the Barber was making a few modifications to his cane. He unscrewed the blunt metal tip and removed it. Next, he gave the silver handle a half turn until he felt a soft, metallic click. He walked up behind Joey, and placing a hand on the frightened bagman's shoulder, indicated that he step aside. All too gratefully, Joey did as ordered.

The Barber slowly opened the bedroom door and quickly moved to the side to avoid being silhouetted by the open door. He stood absolutely still, not daring to breathe. At last he heard it: The beginnings of a low, dangerous growl. Taking a chance, Barber flicked the light switch and several things happened in rapid succession--

The growl turned into an enraged roar.

Joey screamed in terror.

The huge tiger leaped across the room aiming for the source of the intrusive noise--Joey!

A soft ~**_pffffiiiitttt_**!~ whispered in the small confines of the room.

Joey turned to run.

The tiger caught him with a flying leap. 

Joey went down, the tiger on top...

Joey screamed. And screamed. And screamed. The weight of the tiger was suddenly removed from him, but he kept on screaming. Abruptly, he was yanked to his feet, but continued to scream. Somehow the sharp stings of several hard slaps across the face finally registered in his terrorized mind. His screams turned into mindless blubbering, until at last, in the dark recesses of his fear, the realization that he was still alive fully sank in.

The tiger lay deathly still on the floor.

"What--? What happened?" he croaked.

"You're not dead, yet," Barber said, stating the obvious. "But neither's the tiger--it's just drugged. So we have to hurry." 

Nodding unsteadily, Joey began tossing the room as quickly as his shaky hands would allow him. After a few minutes, they were ready to admit defeat.

"It ain't here," Joey said.

"I'm inclined to agree," Barber nodded. "Come on, the drug will be wearing off soon."

"Hey, how did you know?" Joey asked. "To bring a hypodermic, I mean?"

"Like I told Mr. Thorne. He **_pays_** me to know." At Joey's blank look, Barber added, "I always make it a point to learn everything about those I'm up against. I knew that the Catwoman was a potential enemy or ally of Mr. Thorne, and I planned accordingly."

Joey stared at Barber, a mixture of awe and admiration. "You know, you're really something. A gimp that can fight like Bruce Lee. A knife man with ice in his veins. And you talk real educated-like, y'know?" He stopped, eyes widening suddenly. "Hey, no offense, man! I was just--!"

"No offense taken, Joey," Barber said a slight grin playing on his lips. "Come on, we'd best--" He stopped, eyes narrowing suddenly. He went down awkwardly on his good knee and reached for something partially hidden under the bed.

"What is it?" Joey asked, instantly nervous again. The Barber held up a small, credit card-sized piece of paper. Reading the information on it, he looked up at Joey and smiled.

"Bingo."

****

Friday, March 21/11:00pm

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Dicky and Barbara exchanged resigned expressions and continued to mop, dust, and polish the furnishings and lengthy hardwood floor of the main hallway. Dicky stood perfectly balanced, a feather duster in his hand, on an antique Ming Dynasty vase, which he'd placed upside-down on an antique Queen Anne accent table. Not realizing the small fortune he stood on with such nonchalance, Dicky ran the feather duster across yet another solemn portrait of a Wayne ancestor.

Of course, Alfred kept Wayne Manor in such a pristine state that Dicky bet privately there wasn't a speck of dust in the whole house. He was half-tempted to skip a spot, but just as quickly discarded the idea. Alfred would know. Dicky didn't know **_how_** Alfred would know, but he **_knew_** that Alfred **_would_** know. Dicky sighed and continued to dust the dust-free portraits that stared grimly out upon the hallway. 

"That one looks like he has heartburn," Barbara opined solemnly. Dicky giggled.

"You should see the fat guy way over there," Dicky said. 

"You mean the one who looks like an extra large version of Mr. Wayne?" Barbara sniggered. Dicky nodded.

"Uh-huh! It's a good thing they were rich, 'cause I don't think they coulda afforded to feed him otherwise!" Both children broke out in giggles.

"I am glad that cleaning the hallway is proving so entertaining. Perhaps, I should also assign you the formal dining room since you seem to be enjoying yourselves so much."

Dicky and Barbara turned, guilty expressions stamped on their faces. At their looks, it was all Alfred could do to keep from laughing out loud. They really are quite precious, he thought fondly. Seeing the Ming vase on which Dicky stood, Alfred felt his heart skip a beat. Closing he eyes, he shook his head and took a deep breath.

"Master Richard, I implore you to desist your current balancing act and come down from there--" But before Dick could move, Alfred added emphatically, "--and **_please_** be extremely cautious. If you break that vase, I'm afraid that the cost will be coming out of your allowance until you're old and gray." 

Suddenly nervous, Dicky swallowed and carefully did as Alfred asked. Standing next to Barbara, Dicky reached for her hand, and Barbara automatically took his smaller one in hers. Both children looked at Alfred with a certain sense of dread at what might be coming next. 

Unexpectedly, Dicky yawned. Covering his mouth, he mumbled, "'Scuse me." Alfred knew that it was past the boy's bedtime and that he'd been up since before dawn that morning. Even Robin the Boy Wonder needed his sleep. 

"You are excused, Master Dick," Alfred said. "In fact, I believe that you are both excused--to your respective rooms for the night." He waved slightly, taking in all the portraits that lined the hallway. "I don't believe these gloomy ancestral portraits have shone quite so brightly in all my years here at Wayne Manor." He smiled down at the youngsters. "And I do believe that you have more than made up for your earlier evening's misadventures."

The children beamed up at him. 

"Alfred, can we go say g'night to Bruce?" Dicky asked sleepily.

"I'm afraid, Master Dick, that Master Bruce is currently **_occupied_** in his study and has left **_strict_** orders not to be disturbed." Alfred gave Dicky a meaningful look. Dicky nodded in understanding: Bruce was gone for the night. He felt a twinge of disappointment at having been left behind, but realized that he was too tired to have been effective as Robin that night.

"Miss Barbara, I have taken the liberty of laying out the items from your overnight back on the guest bed for you. If you need anything else, please feel free to ask. Now off to bed...the both of you!"

"Good night, Alfred," Barbara said. "I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."

"Me too, Alfred," Dicky echoed. "I'm awful sorry." 

"I accept your apologies," Alfred said warmly. "Now, to bed." Looking rather subdued the youngsters headed towards the stairs. About to turn away, Alfred paused, hearing the distinct sounds of childish giggles, followed by, "I'll race you!" and "Last one at the top is a rotten egg!" trailed by more giggles. Smiling, Alfred headed towards the kitchen.  

****

Friday, March 21/11:00pm

Kattuz Luxury Apartments

Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

"What is it?" Joey repeated.

"Your lucky day," Barber replied enigmatically. He took out a cell phone and pressed the speed dial. Within seconds, he was talking to an unknown party on the other end. Joey could only guess at whom the other person was, probably one of Thorne's lieutenants, he surmised. Either way, it was what Barber was talking about that piqued Joey's interest.

"Yes, you heard correctly. Richard J. Grayson, Wayne Manor. I need you to run the name down for me. It's possible that Catwoman may be working with him."

Pause. 

"Yes, I know who else lives there." 

Pause. 

"Well, how should I know? Maybe he's a relative or something?" 

Pause. 

"I know **_Wayne's _**rich enough to own a small country, but maybe this is some poor relation who's out to make his own fortune the old-fashioned way--by stealing it!" 

Pause. 

"Yes, I'll wait." 

Pause. 

"**_No_**! Under **_no_** circumstances are you to attempt to enter!" 

Pause. 

"Why? Because it's occupied by **_civilians--_**not to mention at least one very wealthy, very powerful civilian! And I don't think our boss would appreciate that kind of heat being brought on the organization. Got it?" 

Pause. 

"A perimeter? Okay, but nothing closer than a hundred meters. You are to observe **_only_**!" 

Pause. 

"Good. I'm about fifteen minutes away. Yeah, I'll be in the 'Vette, so try not to shoot me, okay?" 

Pause. 

"You have the information I asked for? Good! What have you got?" 

Long pause. Barber's cold features suddenly changed, becoming bemused. 

"You're kidding me. Okay, that tears it. **_Absolutely_** under no circumstances is anyone to approach the home. I'll go in, neutralize Catwoman, and recover the diamonds." 

Pause. 

"Funny guy. Barber out."

"Who was that?" Joey asked. 

"A real comedian," Barber snapped. "Look, Joey, this whole operation is almost over. I have reason to believe that Catwoman has the diamonds stashed at Wayne Manor and--"

"At Wayne Manor--!? Hey, wait a minute! That Grayson guy, I heard you mention on the phone! He's her new partner, right? So, we go in, rough 'im up a bit, and--" 

"No, Joey...not '**_we'_**--me! **_I_** go in, look for any signs of Catwoman or the diamonds. If there are, I wait until she leaves the place, and then I take her out and recover the diamonds." 

"Oh, no...You're not shoving **_me_** aside! Catwoman's mine--and so's her partner! Whoever he is! I'll show them not to mess around with Joey Messina!"

"Sorry, Joey, but I have my orders. That phone call? I was told that there's an APB out for you--something about a dead man in a hotel room." At Joey's look of shock, Barber shook his head. "Careless, Joey...real careless. Like I said. I have my orders. And so do you. You are to lie low until things cool down." Barber took out a piece of paper, scribbled something quickly, and handed it to Joey. "Here. This is the address to a safe house. You'll find everything you need for a week--or at least, until things have a chance to cool down a bit."

Joey studied the address. It was located somewhere in the back hills overlooking Gotham City. "And after it does, what happens to **_me_**?" Joey asked. 

"I guess that all depends." Barber gave him a neutral look.

"On what?"

"On you, Joey. I think we've just about proved that Catwoman did snatch the diamonds from you. Once we recover them, I don't see why you shouldn't be given a clean slate. Unless, of course, you **_had _**intended on stealing them for yourself in the first place." He gave Joey a speculative look. "If that's the case, there's no telling what Mr. Thorne will do to you." 

Joey suddenly looked sick. Barber grinned humorously and slapped him on the shoulder. "Just kidding, Joey!" Amused, he pointed at the piece of paper. "Go to that address. Take a hot shower, put your feet up on the couch, and just relax. I promise. It's all going to be over soon."

Barber again slapped him on the back, and with a slight chuckle turned to go. As soon as Barber's back was turned to him, Joey's instincts took over. He grabbed the nearest object he could get his hands on, a heavy fireplace poker, and swung with all his might. This time, he connected with a loud, sickening thud on the back of Barber's head. Barber went down like he'd been shot.

A sudden idea coming to him, Joey dragged the still form into the bedroom. Taking a final look from the door before he closed it, he grinned. "Now who's laughing, pal?" He saw that the tiger lying next to the unconscious Barber was beginning to show faint signs of stirring. "Looks like the joke's on you!"  

****

Friday, March 21/11:30pm

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

When Wayne Manor finally quieted down for the night, her inhabitants lay enshrouded in her deep shadows, protected by a series of sophisticated nonhuman sensors; however, at the moment, her greatest protector who was all too human, as dark as her darkest shadows and more complex than any of her electronic monitoring devices was protecting the countless, nameless citizens of Gotham, leaving those closest to his heart exposed to danger...

By the time Alfred had a chance to return to the kitchen and check on Angie, it was almost midnight and the caterer's truck was long gone. It was just as well, he thought, opening the pantry door and reaching for his tea tin. He placed the teapot on the stove, and leaned his elbows on the counter. 

He'd felt sorry for the poor girl, believing that her behavior had been quite pathetic; however, Alfred wasn't sure that he was up to the task of providing a sympathetic ear at the moment. It was late, and frankly, he was just a bit tired. 

The teapot whistled, and Alfred poured himself a cup. He sat down at the kitchen table, brought the teacup up to his lips and inhaled deeply, enjoying the aromatic fragrance of Earl Grey. Sitting back, Alfred finally allowed himself to relax.

A few minutes later, Alfred finished his tea, and standing, walked over to the kitchen sink. He rinsed out his cup and left it in the sink for the night. At last, Alfred decided that it was time to turn in, and as was his nightly habit, walked softly through the house making a cursory check of the rooms on the bottom floor.

Not spotting anything out of the ordinary, Alfred paused in the long, portrait hallway and opened a small panel, revealing a keypad and LCD screen. He quickly punched in a security code, and waited for the proper verification. A message on the LCD screen warned, 'Disarmed; ready for arming.' At these words, Alfred then punched in another code. Instantaneously, the LCD screen read, 'Alarm armed.'

Satisfied, Alfred headed upstairs...

When the last sound of the children's excited giggles died out with a sleepy sigh, when the sounds of footsteps making a final security check quietly went upstairs, when the last table lamp automatically winked out--when the house seemed to settle at last for a good night's sleep, the kitchen pantry door hesitantly opened.

A feminine hand held it open just a crack, obviously listening for any sounds of the butler returning. After a moment, she dared stick her head out and listen. Satisfied, she emerged. In the dim light being filtered through the kitchen window, the intruder's features were barely discernible as those of 'Angie,' the temp hire. Her mousy demeanor was gone, replaced by a self-confidence that was almost palpable. Grinning sultrily, she reached back and released her hair, shaking it loose as it fell over her shoulders in lustrous waves.

She stopped at the kitchen table, removed her oversized glasses and lay them down. Next, she unslung the leather carryall she had over her shoulders, placed it on the table and opened it. With quick decisive moves, she undressed down to her bra and panties, and then neatly stored the uniform and glasses in the bag. She next reached into a side pocket and pulled out a two-piece, form-fitting costume.

Slipping into it with practiced ease, Catwoman wrapped her cat-o'-nine-tails around her narrow waist, and finally, brought the cowl up over her face, completing the transformation. She glanced at the kitchen clock--not yet midnight. 

_Well, let's go, girl! We've got a lot to do before this night's over!_ She thought of the hour or so that she'd spent hanging upside-down close to the pantry's ceiling. Using an old climber's trick, she'd used the force of her back and legs pressing against the wall to successfully suspend herself out of sight until things quieted down.

Of course, when the butler showed up looking for 'Angie,' only to discover that she wasn't there, Catwoman thought that he'd leave. Instead, he'd stayed and made a cup of tea. Worse, he'd gone into the pantry to get the tea tin. Fortunately, he knew exactly where it was stored because he didn't bother to even turn on the light. Just when Catwoman thought that he'd never leave, she heard the sounds of water running (_Probably rinsing out his cup_, she thought.), followed by a soft step pausing at the door as the light was turned off.  

Catwoman re-slung her carryall over her shoulder, and listening intently at the door, stepped into the deeper shadows of the manor...

Upstairs, Dicky woke with sudden start. He felt the hot tears running down the sides of his face onto his pillow. He'd been dreaming about his parents again. Sniffing softly, he sat up. Reaching for the picture of his mom and dad that he always kept next to his bed, he slowly traced their features with his finger.

"I miss you," he whispered. "Why did you have to go away?" Holding the framed photo next to his heart, Dicky lay back and let the tears come. He thought of the fun they always had together, in the air and on the ground. He suddenly remembered the feel of his father's sure grip on his wrists, and the musical sound of his mother's joyful laughter that just seemed to surround him in a blanket of love.

At last, he thought of Bruce's words earlier that night. _"Dick, what's in our hearts are all our memories of everyone we've ever loved. Our memories are what keep our loved ones alive for us."_

"I think I understand now, Bruce." He sat up in the dark and gazed with longing at his parents' photo. "You're not really gone, Mom, Dad...Not as long as you're in my heart." He held the photo to him. "I promise...I'll always keep you in my heart. For always." Feeling better, he replaced the photo with loving care and lay back on his pillows.

After a while, Dicky realized that he was not going to fall back asleep, and shrugging, sat up and climbed out of bed. He reached for his robe and slippers and quietly tiptoed out into the hallway. Mindful of not disturbing the others, Dicky headed towards the staircase. About to pass the guestroom, he was startled out of a year's growth by Barbara's sudden appearance at the door.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, sotto voce. Barbara immediately held her finger to her lips.

"Shhh...! You'll wake Alfred," she whispered.

"Well, you almost gave me a heart attack," Dick grumbled. "What's the idea anyway?"

"You're one to talk, smart guy," she retorted in low tones. "Why are you out of bed?" Dicky glared at her. About to refuse to answer, his small face suddenly looked pinched as if he were about to cry. He looked down at his feet.

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged. "I kept dreaming about Mom and Dad...and my last birthday with them." This last was said in a very small, little boy voice. Barbara instantly hugged him to her and held him until he responded in kind. 

"I love you, Munchkin," she said fiercely. Holding him by the shoulders, she intensely held his dark blue eyes with her lovely green ones. "Look, anytime you want to talk about your mom and dad to somebody, you just let me know," she said. Dicky smiled back shyly. 

"That's what Bruce said." 

"He did?" she asked smiling. "Well, good for him. I always knew there was more to that millionaire playboy act than met the eye." Dicky stifled a grin.

"Boy, Babs...you just don't know the half of it!" 

"Oh, yeah? What do you say to you'n me raiding the fridge, kid?" she asked, steering him towards the staircase. "You can tell me more over some of that scrumptious leftover birthday cake and ice cream."

Dicky nodded eagerly. "Let's go!" Hand in hand, the two friends padded down the stairs towards the kitchen, when Dicky suddenly stopped. "Hey, Babs...tell you what. I'll meet you in the kitchen. There's something I want to show you--what I got for my birthday from Pop Haly. It's still in my overnight bag."

"I'll go with you," Barbara volunteered with a shiver. "This place may be home to you, but it's all scary shadows and 'things that go bump in the night' to me."  She added this last with a teasing lilt, making Dicky giggle despite his best efforts to remain in stealth mode. _Alfred will catch us now for sure_, he figured. But he didn't care. He felt happy, something he hadn't truly felt since his parents' deaths.

Smiling Dicky led her down a different corridor, in the direction of the downstairs storage closet. "Come on, you big sissy! I'll protect you." Barbara ruffled his hair affectionately.

"I feel much safer already, Dicky."

****

Hidden in the shadows, Catwoman watched from the balcony. Once the children passed by below her, she dropped to the lower level, alighting easily on her feet. She debated following them, but decided that it would be just as easy to wait them out. After all, the boy might not even be talking about the same bag.

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm

Outside Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Several pairs of cold, hard eyes watched as Barber's 'Vette pulled in through the massive wrought iron gates that guarded the entrance to the vast Wayne estate. As instructed, the car stopped well short of the house. In fact, the driver killed the engine and rolled it to stop about 50 feet shy of the circular driveway.

The driver got out, a ski mask pulled over his face to hide his features, and hurried towards the house. Night vision goggles followed him as he stealthily rounded the huge mansion. Finally, they watched as he entered through a darkened patio.

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm

Port Adams

Gotham City

****

The GCPD dispatcher reported sounds of gunfire from the warehouse area in Port Adams. Spotting two groups of armed men in and around the docks, Batman brought the Batmobile to a screeching halt and quickly jumped out. The vehicle automatically went into 'lockdown' mode.

As Batman disappeared into the shadows, a red light suddenly began to blink a steady, silent warning. 

****

Friday, March 21/11:35pm

Kattuz Luxury Apartments

Overlooking: Grant Park, Gotham City

****

Eyes closed, he lay next to the beautiful, dark-eyed daughter of a Bedouin camel herder. An honored guest in her father's camp, he'd been given her for the night. As a welcomed member of the liberating US forces, he'd been treated to a feast late into the night. The girl was the dessert. He lay back, enjoying her caresses and expert kisses. He thrilled to the feel of her wet tongue on his face.

Suddenly, he grimaced. Her rancid breath was enough to choke him. He turned away in disgust, suddenly turned off by her touch. Besides, he'd already been here too long. It was time to return to his unit. His men were waiting for him. He had a job to do. The diamonds, he thought. He still had to find the diamonds...

Barber's eyes snapped open and instantly wanted to close them again. He lay perfectly still, afraid to move, because at the moment, the tiger was calmly licking his face and occasionally rubbing his whiskers against Barber's cheek.

Think, Jase! What did they teach you in Special Forces about how to avoid becoming a tiger's main course? Okay...not much. He continued to lie still, submitting himself to the tiger's caresses. Wait a minute...! This tiger's a pet. What if...?

He remembered a favorite elderly aunt who had had several pet cats through the years. After his father had been sentenced for murder, Barber had been sent to live with her. At first distrustful of her overtures of kindness, Barber had at last grown to love her. He recalled how his aunt used to stroke her cats gently under the chin and behind the ears. 

~"Here, Jason," she'd say. "Like this...you try it, sweetheart."~

Dutifully, he'd do as instructed and smile as the cats invariably lay down on their sides and rolled onto their backs, exposing their belly. All the while, the cats would purr in ecstasy at his gentle touch. Slowly, Barber reached up, and hesitantly at first, began to stroke the tiger under the chin. To his surprise, the large cat responded almost immediately.

Just like his aunt's pet cats, the tiger slowly lay on its side, and closing its eyes, rolled on his back and exposed his belly, a sign of submission. All the while, the tiger was emitting an unmistakable low rumble--a purring sound. Cautiously, Barber raised himself to a kneeling position remaining mindful of the fact that a purring tiger was far from being a house cat. Continuing to fondle the large cat behind the ears, he managed to gain his feet. 

Giving the tiger one final rub under the chin, Barber began to slowly back away towards the door. At one point, the cat blinked his eyes open and stared at him. Freezing in place, Barber thought his pounding heart was going to explode in his chest; however, the tiger let out a long contented sigh, closed its eyes, curled up, and went to sleep.

Barber backed up until he reached the door, and with more relief than he cared to admit, slipped out. Closing the door quietly behind him, Barber collapsed against it, his knees almost giving out. Taking several deep breaths, he managed to steady himself and finally started out.

He had to warn his men about Joey. "The idiot!" he muttered. "Thorne will kill 'im for sure now." Pressing the speed dial as he hurried towards the elevators, he waited impatiently for the other end to pick up. "Come on...come on...!" At last!

"It's me. Joey sandbagged me and--!"

Pause.

"No, I'm all right. But he's probably halfway there. Keep a sharp eye out for him, we can't afford a hostage situation--What?"

Pause.

"How do **I** know what car he's driving? Probably took the 'Vette--!"

Pause.

"What do you **mean** you think he's already there?"

Pause.

"Five **minutes** ago? And you didn't try to **stop** him?"

Pause.

"You thought it was me." Barber sighed. "Swell! That's just swell!"

Pause.

"**No**! You guys **blew** it! Under **no** circumstances are you to approach the house. I'm on my way. Repeat--I'm on my way!" Disgustedly, Barber shoved the cell phone back in his coat pocket just as the elevator doors opened onto the garage level. Running a quick search, he spotted a Porsche and headed towards it. As he walked, he felt his limp becoming more pronounced. 

This job is fast becoming a pain in the...knee, he thought darkly. 

It had all seemed so easy at first when he'd been approached soon after his medical discharge from the Army. But even his years of service with Army Special Operations hadn't prepared him for sewer rats like Joey.

Or pond scum like Rupert Thorne.

When this is over, he vowed, the Barber is going to be **permanently** retired. 

Even as these thoughts whirled through his head, Barber opened the Porsche's driver's side door, and undaunted by the car alarm that immediately went off, quickly disconnected it. He shrugged. Nobody ever paid any attention to car alarms anyway. Next, Barber reached under the dash and pulled out a couple of wires. A few minutes later, he roared out of the underground garage.

Shortly thereafter, he was pulling onto Aparo Expressway, headed north in the direction of Kane Memorial Bridge. Wayne Manor was situated north of Gotham River, nestled somewhere in the Bristol Hills. He pressed down harder on the accelerator.

_If he puts a scratch on the 'Vette, he's a dead man!_

****

Saturday, March 22/12:15am

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Dicky opened the door to the downstairs storage closet. He stood on his tiptoes, and reaching up, his fingers found and closed around a hanging cord. When he pulled it, the light came on immediately. Dicky felt his small chest swell with pride. Just a few months ago, he'd either had to stand on something or jump up in order to reach the cord. Now, he'd only had to stand on tiptoe and he'd easily attained it.

Better yet, he'd accomplished this very grownup feat in front of Barbara. Maybe she'd stop thinking of him as just a little kid that she baby-sat on occasion. After all, he'd just turned ten. He'd be a teenager in another three years, and he wouldn't need a babysitter any more. Privately, Dicky didn't think that Robin, the Boy Wonder should even **_have_** a babysitter, but Bruce and Alfred insisted that 'appearances' had to be maintained. 

Moreover, Dicky knew that Child Protective Services was still not convinced that Bruce Wayne was an appropriate guardian for him; so, whether he needed one or not, Dicky Grayson would have a babysitter just like any other normal ten-year-old whenever Bruce was required to attend some Gotham City gala. 

Dicky gave Barbara a sideways glance to gauge her reaction. She was smiling at him, as if aware of his thoughts. Blushing furiously, Dicky hid his discomfiture under the guise of searching for his overnight bag. As he did so, he sneaked another peak at her and felt his breath catch. She stood directly under the overhead light, which cast unusual shadows on her profile and highlights on her hair. 

Dicky thought that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever met in his life. Resuming his search, Dicky smiled to himself. _As long as I have to have a babysitter, I'm not gonna complain if the babysitter just happens to be Babs._ He only hoped that she'd give him a chance to grow up before she met someone else.

After another brief moment, Dicky finally discovered his leather carryall. "Hey! Here it is!" he whispered, excitedly. "I found it!"

"That's great, Munchkin!" Barbara said. Her green eyes smiling, she held her hand out to him. "Come on! That cake and ice cream are waiting for us in the fridge!" Happily, the two youngsters hurriedly made their way through the darkened corridors of the manor...

Another pair of green eyes watched as the children headed towards the kitchen. Almost purring in delight at the sight of the leather carryall, Catwoman followed, her lithe movements that of a cat stalking her prey...

Unknown to any of them, yet another intruder had spotted the leather bag. As the children passed near him, Joey was about to jump them from concealment when out of the corner of his eye he detected a furtive shadow. Instantly, ducking back, Joey made out the unmistakable form of the Catwoman.

_Oh, no...those diamonds are mine!_ He took out a pistol from inside his jacket. _And when I'm done with you, Catwoman, you'll see why it ain't a good idea to double-cross Joey Messina!_

****

Saturday, March 22/12:30am

Somewhere on the back roads of Bristol Hills

North of Gotham City

****

Barber expertly maneuvered the Porsche through the many hairpin turns along the darkened road. _You'd think with all the lousy money in this subdivision, **someone** would think about installing street lamps_, he grumbled. At last he saw it, lying solemnly on the crest of the hill, Gotham City's oldest continuously occupied private residence, Wayne Manor. Even from this distance it appeared imposing. 

_And no doubt it's probably crawling with surveillance equipment._ Well, his team was well trained in the art of avoiding detection. _And any idiot who gets himself caught will have the resulting legal fees deducted from his pay_, he swore._ Especially that clown, Riley_. 

Recalling Riley's amused taunting when he'd reported that Catwoman's so-called accomplice, Richard J. Grayson, was in fact a 10-year-old, Barber grinned in wry amusement. _Well, how was **I** supposed to know? _Not wanting Riley to have another one up on him, Barber reached for the phone and pressed the speed dial.

"This is me," he reported. "I'm less than a mile out, driving a black Porsche--"

Pause.

"Hot-wire, natch."

Pause.

"Oh, yeah? Well, just make sure you clowns hold your fire. I didn't sign on for this just to get another bullet in me." As Barber listened to the reply from the other end, he cut the engine and brought the car to a rolling stop just inside the tree line. Climbing out, he took off his jacket, revealing a shoulder holster and pistol. 

Barber placed the jacket on the hood, and working quickly, removed a few items from several pockets hidden underneath the inside lining. He picked up a black watch cap and put it on, covering his blond hair. Next, he donned a headset equipped with a powerful transceiver and an attached monocular Starlite scope, which gave him night vision capability. Finally, he made a few adjustments to his cane.

_Insurance against cats and rats_, he thought darkly. 

Taking out a handheld electronic device, Barber punched in a passcode. Immediately, a map grid of the manor grounds appeared on a small LCD screen with the positions of each of his men indicated by a green dot. Satisfied, he made a commo check.

"Riley, this is Barber. Come in." His friend's answering call came immediately over his headset.

"This is Riley. Welcome back to the fold, Jase. I hear it's cold on the outside."

"Tell me about it," Barber grumbled. "Is Team Two in place?"

"In place and waiting the 'go' order."

"Good. You just make sure Andersen waits for the order. The last time that guy was in charge, he almost blew the whole mission."

"Don't worry about Andersen," Riley said comfortably. "I had a 'talk' with the little dweeb before his team deployed."

"And--?"

"And I pointed out a few facts of life to him." Riley sounded quite pleased with himself. 

"Like--?" Barber prompted impatiently.

"Like if he doesn't want to return to that backwater post in Montana and deal with more of those militia nutcases, he'll follow procedure to the letter."

Barber grinned slightly and then returned to business. "So, do you have the positions of the hostiles inside?"

"Negative. There's a powerful jammer originating from somewhere around here. It's causing havoc with our equipment. So far we've been unable to pinpoint its location."

Barber swore under his breath. "Okay...we'll work around it. I'm going in and--"

"Jase, I don't like it. You'll be going in with your eyes and ears closed. This jammer is also going to mess with your radio. If you get in trouble, we won't know. Besides, the Catwoman's an A-player--world-class dangerous. And Messina's already killed once today. There's no telling **_what_** that punk'll do if he gets the chance. Maybe we should all go in--?"

"Negative, Riley! This is a solo job--"

"Jase, what about the civilians? If something happens to you, what happens to them?"

Barber closed his eyes. Civilians! It seemed that he had spent the greater part of his young adult life worrying about innocent civilians being caught in the crossfire. 

"Jase--? You there, Jase?"

"Yeah, Riley, I'm here," Barber said quietly. "Okay, buddy, this is what we'll do. I'm going in alone. You'll give me one hour--that's sixty minutes--to take out the hostiles. If you don't hear from me within that time, when your second hand passes sixty-**_one_** minutes, you are to move in and neutralize the situation. Do you copy?"

"I copy," Riley replied, his voice subdued. "Good luck, buddy."

"Thanks. Barber out."

****

Saturday, March 22/12:30am

Port Adams

Gotham City

****

The sound of approaching sirens was Batman's sign to retreat. The gang members had been eager and willing to take him on but had proved no match. _Dicky's a better sparring partner than all of them put together, _he thought amused. _Dicky...It had been good to see him laugh and play with other children for a change_. 

He thought of the boy's earlier heartbreak that night, and paused momentarily. _I can't believe I found the right words to say to him._ He thought of the strange new feelings that overwhelmed him whenever he held Dicky in his arms. _Strange_? _No, not strange_, he amended. Something else. Something long forgotten. Something long dead inside him, since his parents' murder.

_Love...? _He stood in wonder, unmindful of the first of the police cruisers pulling onto the docks. He remembered other words he'd spoken to Dicky, cold, measured words. Heartless words spoken long ago. Words he now wished he could take back. 

~"I'll be your trainer, Dicky, your mentor. In time, I'll even make you my partner. But I **won't** be your father.~ 

Batman recalled the small, scrunched face with the large blue eyes glaring up at him, his small fists held at his sides.

_~"Okay, so maybe **you** don't want a son," Dicky replied defiantly. "Well, I don't **need** a father! And anyway you could **never** take Dad's place!"~_

Batman felt his throat constrict at the memory. At the time, he'd accepted the boy's reply as acceptance of his rules. He now realized what Dicky had been trying to tell him, that he hadn't known how to be a father, or rather, how to be a 'dad.' 

But what about now? 

_I love that boy_, he finally admitted. Suddenly, Batman felt an urgent need to check up on his adopted son. More police cruisers came to a screeching halt, forming a perimeter around the docks. 

Snapping back to awareness, Batman hurriedly climbed into his vehicle, and immediately the powerful engine roared into life. As he pulled onto Aparo Expressway, a blinking light caught his attention. He felt his insides freeze. The manor's security had been breached. 

My family's in trouble.

****

End of Part 2


	3. Part 3

**_Summary_**: Dick and Barbara defend Wayne Manor.

**_Note: _**Thanks to Sandra and Alexandra for the beta-help.

**_Rating_**: PG-13

**_Disclaime_**r: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

**_Copyright_**: March 2003

**** 

Payback 

By Syl Francis

****

Saturday, March 22/12:45am

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Dicky and Barbara were having a pleasant time as they helped themselves to heaping servings of birthday cake and ice cream. On occasion, an outside listener could make out suppressed, childish laughter. Soon, the two youngsters were competing against each other to see who could stuff the biggest spoonful in their mouths. 

Dicky took an especially large bite of cake and ended up with frosting on his nose and chin. Barbara snorted involuntarily, sending milk flying out of her mouth and nostrils. Laughing and swallowing at the same time, Dicky ended up choking on his cake. Barbara immediately thumped him a couple of times on the back, resulting in both kids collapsing in further merriment.

"Shhhh...!" Barbara warned, between chuckles. "Or we'll wake Alfred!" Covering her mouth to further stifle her giggles, she added, "If he catches us, he'll probably make us polish the silver or something."

Dicky nodded in agreement. "And boy, you don't want to have to do that! There's more silver here than in a whole silver mine!" With that warning hanging over them, the youngsters settled down and began tackling their ill-gotten desserts in earnest.

"So, what did you do down in Florida?" Barbara asked.

"Oh...not much," Dicky said with a shrug. "Just the same ol' stuff."

"Like what?" Barbara asked. She knew that Dicky's idea of 'same old stuff' usually involved a dangerous activity performed 70 feet in the air. And although he rarely talked about his family, she was quite aware of his circus background.

"Weeellllll...I got to go into the lion cage this time," he said proudly, "not just watched from outside. Simba's trainer even showed me how to use the whip." 

"Wow!" Barbara said, impressed. "And you weren't scared? I would've been petrified."

"Naaaahhhh..." Dicky said immodestly. "Simba's just a giant pussycat. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Then why is he kept inside a cage?" Barbara asked skeptically.

"Awww...That's just for show. At night, he sleeps with the trainer's family in their trailer." Dicky shrugged as if lions sleeping in a family trailer were no big deal. "Jacques raised Simba ever since he was a cub."

"Jacques?"

"Simba's trainer," Dicky explained. "Jacques raises all of his own lions. His whole family is part of the act, even Tommy--and he's only seven." Dicky smiled. "He and Simba are the same age and were raised together. Tommy's mom says that they were practically littermates when they were still babies." He looked suddenly pensive. "I really miss them." He pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Hey, kiddo, aren't you going to show me what Pop Haly gave you?" Barbara asked, changing the subject. Dicky looked up at her, and as if realizing what she was doing, smiled gratefully and nodded.

"Sure." He retrieved the bag from the island counter and brought it back to the table, just as Barbara cleared it to make more room. Dicky eagerly turned the dial on the small combination lock and tried to open it. It remained locked. "That's funny," he said and tried again. It still remained locked.

"Are you sure you're using the right combination?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah," Dicky said confused. "My birthday." Staring at the combination lock, he decided to try something else. He leaned in closer in order to listen to the tumblers.

"What are you--?" Barbara began, but Dicky held his hand up for quiet.

"Shhh!" he hissed. Barbara made a wry face, but remained quiet. His expression intent, Dicky listened as he turned the small dial on the lock. Right...~_click_~! Left...~_click~_! Then slower with more caution--right again...~_click~_! At this final sound from the miniature tumblers, Dicky gave Barbara a look of triumph. "There! That's got it!" 

"You'd better not let Dad see you do that," Barbara teased. "He's liable to arrest you on suspicion or something."

Eagerly, Dicky removed the lock and opened the bag. As one, the two youngsters peered inside, and Dicky started removing the items: men's trousers and briefs, shaving cream, a razor? Dicky gave Barbara a look of incomprehension.

"I don't get it...This stuff isn't mine--?"

"No, kid," a dry, feminine voice said from the door. "It's mine."

As one, Dicky and Barbara whirled around to face the intruder. Dicky's blue eyes widened, becoming as huge as saucers. "**_Catwoman_**!" he exclaimed without thinking. 

By way of answering, Catwoman snapped her cat-o'-nine-tails twice: Once in the air, which caused the children to back up involuntarily, and next at the overnight bag. The end of her whip wound itself easily around the bag's handle, and with a smooth motion, she pulled it towards her.

Catching it in her free hand, Catwoman stuffed it into her larger carryall. "Thanks, kiddies," she said amused. "Love to stay and chat, but gotta go. Ta!"

With that, she was gone as quickly as she'd appeared. 

****

Upstairs, Alfred was awakened from his light sleep. He didn't know what he'd heard, but he knew that there was something definitely amiss. For the past few minutes, his subconscious had registered the muted sound of children's laughter. Now, another more menacing sound had crashed through the curtain of sleep.

Alfred sat up in bed, automatically reaching for his robe. In the dark, he felt around for his house shoes and was soon making his way down the darkened upstairs hallway. He paused to listen. 

He heard laughter, coupled by a strange woman's voice, and then silence, which was even more frightening. He hurried to Dicky's door and opened it. He ran a quick check. The bed was empty. "My word..." he murmured. Tamping down his fear, he hurried to the guest room to check on Barbara. She was gone as well.

Swallowing, Alfred moved quickly in the direction of the back stairs. The sounds he'd heard earlier had come from the direction of the kitchen.

****

As soon as Catwoman backed out of the kitchen, Dicky was on her trail. "Stay here where you'll be safe, Babs!" he urged. "**_I'll_** get her!" 

"In your **_dreams_**, Munchkin!" Barbara muttered, following at his heels.

****

Joey lay in wait. He'd watched as Catwoman entered the kitchen only to see her back out, less than a minute later. As she turned to run with her usual feline grace in his direction, Joey caught the Cheshire grin alighting her features. 

_That's it, Catwoman...I'm gonna enjoy wiping that grin off your face_. 

An instant later, Catwoman passed in front of him. Joey stepped out of the shadows and jammed his pistol against the small of her back. "**_Hold_** it!" Catwoman froze. "Hello, Selina." He'd moved in dangerously close to her, enjoying the feel of her body against his. All those months ago, working so closely with her, Joey had envisioned just such a moment. He'd daydreamed of the time when he would be in control, and Catwoman reduced to obeying his every whim.

Emboldened by the gun, Joey obscenely ran his free hand down her body. He felt her tense suddenly under his touch. Leaning in close, his hot breath against her cheek, he said, "I think you have something that belongs to me."

Catwoman bided her time, quite aware of the gun barrel currently held against her spine. She allowed him his fun, vowing that before the night was over, she'd make certain that he would never be able to touch another woman as long as he lived. 

If he lived.

Taking her demeanor as cooperation, Joey felt even surer of himself. "You shouldn't have done it, Selina. You shouldn't've tried to double-cross me. We coulda had some good times together." Again, he ran his hand suggestively down her back. "Too bad I'm gonna have to kill you--"

The next thing he knew, Catwoman elbowed him painfully in the ribs. "Why you--!" he gasped. Before he could say anything else, a moving train seemed to slam into him from the side. The force sent him flying sideways, losing his footing.

Before he could recover, Catwoman kicked his wrist, loosening his grip on the pistol. It went flying across the room. Less than a heartbeat later, the same moving train as before struck him again, this time from behind. Joey hit the floor face down, something or someone pinning him to the floor. Whoever it was, he or she was applying unbearable pressure to his thumb.

"Hey! Watch it!" he yelped. "You'll break it!" Dicky applied a little more pressure, causing him to squawk suddenly in pain. Abruptly, Catwoman added to Joey's discomfiture by suddenly landing a kick across his chin. This caused him to see temporary stars.

"You're lucky that kick wasn't somewhere in your southern hemisphere, you lousy rat!" she snarled. "You'd better pray they toss your worthless carcass in jail, Joey, because if we ever cross paths again, it'll be your last!" Turning to Dicky, Catwoman smiled and blew him a kiss. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, handsome! It's nice to know that chivalry isn't dead!" Giving him a small wave, she took off once more. Dicky gaped at her retreating form.

"Dicky! Are you all right?" Barbara asked breathlessly, then, "Are you crazy? You could've been killed!"

"Babs!" Dicky interrupted excitedly. "You gotta sit on top of this guy! Catwoman's getting away again!"

"Not on your life, Munchkin! Who's the babysitter here anyway? **_I'm_** going after the Cat-lady."

"**_You!??? _**B-but you're just a **_girl_**!" Dicky spluttered.

"I **_heard_** that!" Barbara called over her shoulder.

"Hey! Get **_off_** me!" Joey demanded. Dicky applied more pressure on the thumb he'd been holding. "**_Ouch_**! That **_hurt_**! Get **_off_** me! If I get my hands on you--!"

"Oh, shut up," Dicky muttered in annoyance. "You want me to let you go? Okay...I'll let you go." Releasing him, Dicky quickly leaped up, executed an expert back flip, and recovered to a standing defensive crouch. As soon as Joey realized that he was no longer being held down, he got to his feet. Seeing that his opponent was under four feet in height, he suddenly gave an ugly grin.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this, you little punk." He glared at Dicky, and began advancing menacingly. 

****

Barber crept through the big house, the Starlite monocular scope making his search easier. His gaze swept the length of the long hallway as he advanced. The solemn faces of the Wayne ancestors glaring down at him from above. Reaching the far end of the hallway, he stopped just shy of a left turn. Pulling out a small, angled mirror, the kind found in any dentist's office, Barber cautiously held it out in order to see around the corner without exposing himself.

All clear. 

Proceeding cautiously, he paused near the foot of the grand staircase. On the wall to the right of the staircase, a small blinking light at about eye level caught his attention. He moved forward to investigate it and immediately saw that it was the control box for the alarm system. 

He held his palm-sized electronic device to it and quickly attached two jump wires. He punched in a code, and almost instantly, a series of digits scrolled through across the LCD screen. Within a few seconds, he had the alarm system disconnected. 

Satisfied, he made a radio check. "This is Barber, commo check."

"Read you five-by." Riley's voice answered instantaneously in his ear. 'Five-by' was an old radio operator's term meaning 'loud and clear.' "What did you do, Jase? Black magic?" 

"Sorry, buddy...a magician never reveals his tricks. Barber out." He grinned. Working with Riley was as close to the camaraderie that he'd enjoyed in the army. Although sorry that his wound had forced him out on a medical discharge, Barber was beginning to think that working for the Bureau was a satisfactory consolation prize.

Admittedly, the undercover part sucked big time. And working with dweebs like Andersen had its considerable drawbacks, but on the whole, it felt good to still be serving his country. And closing in on these diamonds was the final phase in closing down Rupert Thorne and his 'drugs for illegal arms' deal, a job that had taken Barber from Qurac, across three continents, and finally ended here in Gotham City. Overall, it looked like this case was almost over.

He made a small adjustment to his handheld device, and it suddenly became a radio direction finder. Running a scan, the RDF signal soon indicated a hostile--someone skulking near the backstairs by the kitchen's rear entrance. Quietly, he headed in the vector reading.

Spotting movement directly in front of him, Barber put away the RDF and reached for his gun. Hesitating, he left the gun holstered, and instead, adjusted his hold on his ever-present cane. His movements that of a whisper, Barber came up on the person and grabbed him from behind, clapping his hand across the individual's mouth, keeping him from crying out.

"Quiet!" he hissed. "There're some bad people in the house. At least one of them is armed and dangerous--and has killed at least once already. Do you understand?" The older gentleman nodded nervously. "I'm going to let you go, but I've gotta warn you...I'm also armed. So--don't cry out and don't try anything. Got it?" His prisoner nodded once again.

Slowly, reluctantly, Barber released him. The older gentleman let out a deep breath, seemed to relax, and then turned to face him. Barber had never seen him before; therefore, he was probably one of the residents. 

_How many relatives did Wayne have living with him anyway?_

Keeping his voice low, Barber questioned him. "Who are you? What are you doing here? And how many more civilians are there in the house?"

"I refuse to answer until you identify yourself, sir." The man spoke with a quiet dignity that Barber found strangely charming.

"You've got guts," Barber admitted. Unholstering his gun, he held it to the older man's temple and asked again. The elderly gentleman closed his eyes, swallowed, took a deep breath, and then let it out. Opening his eyes, he gazed steadily into Barber's.

"I already gave you my answer," he said quietly.

Barber glared at him for a long moment, placing all the power of 'Barber, the cold-eyed, baby-faced killer' into the look. The effect was totally lost on his prisoner. Rolling his eyes, Barber sighed and holstered his weapon.

"It always on TV," he grumbled. Sighing he added, "Okay, mister...you win. The name's Barber. I'm after a killer named Joey Messina. I have reason to believe that he is somewhere in this house at the moment.

Alfred's eyes widened. "In here? Right now?" Barber nodded. "Does he have a female accomplice?"

Barber's demeanor suddenly became suspicious. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I could have sworn that I heard a woman's laugh not long ago," he replied. "And the children...the children are missing."

"Children? Did you say, 'children'? As in more than one child?"

"Yes...Master Dick and Miss Barbara. They weren't in their rooms."

"I see..." Barber was worried. "What's your relation to them?"

"I'm Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne's valet. The family butler, as it were," he added. "The children are **_my_** responsibility." He made a move towards the kitchen door. "If they're in trouble, then I must--"

"Hold it!" Barber said a bit sharply. "Didn't you hear what I said? Messina has killed once already. No telling what he'll do next. Besides, there's something else." He paused and held Alfred's eyes. "I have reason to believe that there's someone else in here. Someone even more dangerous than Messina." At Alfred's look, he said, "Catwoman."

_Alfred's initial look of fear dissipated. Catwoman dangerous? Pshaw! The woman was an annoyance on Master Bruce's side--always managing to elude his capture. But dangerous? Only to other criminals. This '**Barber**' fellow obviously doesn't know his **criminals** from his **derriere**!_

Seeing the look of disdain that suddenly crept over Alfred's features, Barber demanded, "What?"

Not bothering to answer, Alfred again made a move to enter the kitchen. Scowling, Barber grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

"Allow me," he said ironically. "If anyone's gonna rush in and get himself killed, it might as well be me. After all, I'm being **_paid_** to do it." Pointing a finger at the floor, he growled, "Stay put!"

Unholstering his weapon, Barber carefully opened the kitchen's back door. Empty. Running a quick check, he found evidence of a late-night cake and ice cream party. 

"Today was his birthday," Alfred said quietly. "He's only just turned ten."

Startled by Alfred's voice, Barber spun around, his weapon aimed center mass on the elderly gentleman's chest. The next instant, he raised the muzzle to the ceiling. His expression practically screamed, 'Don't you know better than to sneak up on a guy with a gun?!' But, since the point was obviously moot, Barber didn't bother. He just scowled even darker than before.

Alfred ignored him. He'd dealt with the Master of Dark Scowls for the past 20 years. A blond, baby-faced government agent was simply not in the same league.

Before either could speak, they heard the sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the door. Barber glared at Alfred.

"Stay put!" he repeated. Ignoring him, Alfred pushed him aside and hurried out the door. Barber slapped his hand across his eyes, shook his head, and followed as quickly as his limp would let him.

**_Civilians!_**

His medical discharge didn't seem like such bad deal after all.

****

Saturday, March 22/12:45am

Somewhere on the back roads of Bristol Hills

North of Gotham City

****

The Batmobile sped over the Kane Memorial Bridge, moonlight glistening off its dark surface. The bridge support cables cast a strange, strobe-like shadow and light show on the vehicle as it passed. The super turbo-charged car practically flew under the bridge's historic Gothic towers, moving at such incredible speeds that it barely registered on the Transport Authority's monitors. The guards blinked as their systems showed a dark blip that was there one second, gone the next.

Inside the famous vehicle, Batman attempted to activate the video uplink from inside the manor. To his surprise, it was not operational. _Someone disconnected the first level alarm system from the inside._ Batman made a fist as this thought flashed through his head. Since it was unlikely that either Alfred or Dicky would do so, it was logical to conclude that a person or persons unknown had disconnected it.

Batman pressed harder on the accelerator and shifted to super-overdrive. Because he had now crossed the bride to the hilly, curved road located on the north side of the Gotham River, it was too dangerous to activate the super turbo-thrusters; however, soon he'd be turning off onto the camouflaged wooded path leading to the Batcave. As soon he did, he would be able to apply the thrusters. He checked the chronometer reading on the dashboard. 

45 seconds to go.

While he waited, Batman pressed a button on the Batmobile's command console. A hidden panel slid out, revealing a miniature onboard computer system. Keeping his eyes on the road, Batman typed in a command code. Instantly, a schematic of Wayne Manor appeared. Several shifting blips showed the location of the manor occupants. 

Unfortunately, he had no way of identifying friend or foe. Briefly, he regretted not carrying through on his initial plan to have subcutaneous microchips implanted in Dicky and Alfred for remote identification purposes. He shook his head. There was no time to indulge in self-recriminations. 

He thought about activating the manor's Code Orange Intruder Countermeasures, which were just shy of a Code Red. This would automatically fill the house with knockout gas and render everyone inside unconscious. He quickly opted against the idea, however. Another code instantly showed him the manor grounds. Batman's only reaction was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Apparently, the house was surrounded.

On the other hand, there was no reason why he couldn't keep the intruders inside the manor from escaping, or those located on the outside from entering. Making up his mind, Batman typed in another code, pressed the 'Enter' key, paused for moment, and then typed three additional letters, **'S-O-S,**' the international Morse Code letters. 

A series of alphanumeric codes flashed across the computer screen. This was immediately followed by a soft, computer-generated female voice: "**CASTLE WAYNE ACTIVATED...REPEAT...CASTLE WAYNE ACTIVATED."** Satisfied, Batman shut off the computer and returned it to its hidden storage area.

"Now, **_no one_** goes in or out." 

For a brief instant, Batman brooded over the considerable danger in which the two people he loved the most in the world were. Ready to fall back into his usual dark mode of self-recrimination, his thoughts again turned to Dicky and the boy's irrepressible personality.

He recalled the boy's first encounter with the Riddler less than a month ago...

_"Riddle me **this**!" Robin taunted. He stood gazing up at the figure of the Riddler. The arch-criminal was hanging from the ceiling, struggling uselessly against Robin's Bat-rope, which was wound tightly around his waist. "What's black and white and red all over?"_

_The Riddler stopped his struggles for a moment to glare at the brightly clad boy. "Everybody knows the answer to that one, you stupid little Bat-brat!"_

"Oh, **yeah**?" Robin's expression became suddenly dangerous. He released the line that was holding the Riddler suspended from the ceiling rafters, and the King of Conundrums came crashing down. "The answer is **you**, you big loser: When you're back in your black and white prison stripes, you'll be red all over with embarrassment 'cause everybody there is gonna know that you were put back by **me**...!"

Batman allowed himself a proud, half-smile. Dicky's training had come far in just a few short months. And Gotham City's worst denizens had grown very much aware of his abilities. 

_Dicky can hold off any intruders until I arrive_. He pressed harder on the accelerator. 

'Castle Wayne' awaited the return of its Dark Knight.

****

Saturday, March 22/01:00am

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

Catwoman hurried in the direction from which she'd first entered the house. Opening the door to the quaint, out of the way sitting room, she slipped inside and crossed towards the curtained glass doors. About to reach them, she was taken by surprise by a flying tackle from behind. 

Quickly recovering, she easily threw off her attacker, spun and kicked out. At the last possible second, Catwoman successfully held back, stopping just short of landing a killing blow to Barbara's head. 

Startled at the ferocity of Catwoman's counterattack, Barbara gasped in shock and stood perfectly still. Swallowing, she was unable to do more than stare at the booted heel hovering less than inch from the bridge of her nose. 

Sighing, Catwoman dropped her leg and took a few steps back. Staring in mild annoyance at Barbara, she crossed her arms and shook her head. "You really don't want to do this, sweetie. You're playing with the big girls now." At her words, Barbara found her earlier resolve. Eyes narrowed, she jutted out her delicate jaw and closed her hands into fists. She glared defiantly across the short distance that separated them, surprising Catwoman with her boldness.

Abruptly, Barbara sprang into action. An accomplished gymnast and a cop's daughter, Barbara had trained at her father's insistence in self-defense alongside the GCPD's Finest. She'd attended special classes available to police officers' family members, and now held the equivalent of a brown belt. In another few months, she'd qualify for her black belt.

Combining her gymnastics skills with her martial arts, Barbara had been secretly developing her own unique defensive style in preparation for her black belt exam. This seemed like the perfect time to test out her new skills. Catching Catwoman off guard, the plucky teen executed two handsprings in rapid succession and capped them off by striking feet first into Catwoman. 

"~**_Oooooffff_**!~ Catwoman was thrown back by the force of the unexpected blow and landed unceremoniously on her rear end. She glared up at Barbara's triumphant look.

"Okay, Red...now you've made me mad." She stood up in a smooth, effortless motion and un-slung her carryall. "The first one was free. But now? You play, you pay." 

Confident after her initial success, Barbara struck out again; however, this time Catwoman was ready and effortlessly subdued her. Later, Barbara would never quite know exactly what happened. One moment, she was in the air, kicking out. The next, she was the floor, facedown, her hands tied.

Surprisingly, once Catwoman had beaten Barbara fair and square, her actions took the teen slightly aback. Privately, Barbara admitted that Catwoman could easily have mistreated her; instead, the so-called 'feline femme fatale' actually treated her with unexpected gentleness. Or at least, Catwoman handled her with no more roughness than was absolutely necessary to immobilize her.

"You've got spunk, Red," Catwoman said as she wound plastic tie-wraps around Barbara's wrists. "I like spunk." 

After ensconcing her prisoner a little more comfortably on a soft leather sofa, Catwoman squatted down next to her. "Let me give you some advice, Red." She held up a single finger. "One...Get rid of the braids. They do nothing for you." Catwoman held up a second finger. "Two...Don't ever attack an opponent without first studying his or her movements." She held up a third. "Three...Get some contacts. You've got gorgeous eyes--don't hide 'em." She stood. "In a few more years, you'll be breaking hearts."

With a smile and jaunty wave, she turned to go. She opened the glass door she'd first used to enter the house and stopped.

"What in heaven's name is **_that_**?"

Struggling to turn her body, Barbara inched herself to a sitting position until she could see over the back of the sofa that blocked her view. Her eyes widened when she saw what Catwoman was talking about. 

Even as she watched, Catwoman ran from window to window in a frantic effort to find a means of escape. At each possible exit, the same impassable metal plate met Catwoman, sliding down silently, shutting her off from the outside world. 

Without having to check the rest of the house, they knew that Wayne Manor had somehow been turned into a prison. 

****

Alfred arrived in time to see Joey spring at Dicky.

"Master Dick! Look out, young sir!" 

As soon as the words left him, Alfred realized his mistake. By calling out, he had inadvertently broken Dicky's concentration, and to Alfred's dismay, Joey took the junior crimefighter by surprise, landing a glancing blow across the small boy's temple. 

Dicky went down, stunned. Enraged beyond measure, Alfred launched himself at Joey. "You **_villain_**! How **_dare_** you strike that child!"

By the time Barber limped in, he was confronted by the strange sight of Alfred hanging tenaciously from Joey's back, his arms wound tightly around the bagman's neck. Joey staggered under the weight as he tried in vain to fight him off. Alfred's stranglehold finally had its desired effect. Joey's knees gave out, folding limply like a rag doll.  

"You **_blackguard_**!" Alfred cried, not noticing that his opponent was now unconscious. "If you've hurt my young my master, why I-I'll--!"

"Alfred! That's enough!" Dicky cried, trying to get his beloved caregiver's attention. "Alfred! You've gotta let 'im go! You'll **_kill_** him!" By then Barber was also working to disengage Alfred's hold on Joey. It seemed an eternity before Dicky's voice at last registered in the loyal butler's subconscious. Alfred blinked several times, finally focusing on Dicky.

"Master Richard...?" he murmured, struggling for words. He released the limp form of Joey, who fell to the floor in a boneless heap, and grabbed Dicky by the arms, his hands and eyes examining the young boy for injury. "You're all right? You're not hurt?" Dick nodded at the first question, and then shook his head at the second. With a relieved cry, Alfred swept the startled youngster into his arms and held him close. Dick automatically put his arms around Alfred's neck.

"I'm okay, Alfred...honest." He stood back and looked seriously into Alfred's eyes. "He just got the drop on me for a second. That's all. I was never in any **_real_** danger." He paused and gave Alfred a significant look. "You **_know_** that, don't you?"

Studying his youngest charge's earnest face, Alfred at last nodded. "Of course, young sir. As you say...you were never in any real danger."

"Ummmm...look, Alfred," Barber said from the side. "I hate to interrupt this little family drama, but there's the little matter of Catwoman--?"

"Catwoman!" Dicky cried, remembering. "Alfred, I've gotta go! Catwoman took off and Babs went after her! I've gotta **_do_** something!"

"Whoa, easy, kid," Barber said, grabbing the small acrobat by the scruff of the neck. "Where do you think--?" It was the last thing he said before he found himself on his back and having great difficulty breathing. 

Unexpectedly, Dicky had leaped high and forward, his expertise not lost on Barber. Barber was completely taken by surprise by the boy's skill. _The kid's at least a 3rd degree black belt, maybe higher!_ Unprepared for the attack, it was all Barber could do to counteract it without hurting Dicky. 

Too late, Barber realized that it was his own physical safety that he should have been worrying about. _This kid's dangerous_. Struggling against the red haze that surrounded him, Barber realized that he couldn't breath. Blinking through the dancing black and purple spots before his eyes, Barber fought against the unrelenting pressure on his larynx.  

"Can't...breathe..." he gasped. The pressure was released just enough to let him take in a minute amount of air. Momentarily, his vision cleared and he found a pair of blue eyes glaring down at him. A picture of the roles being reversed--Barber in control, Joey gasping for air--flashed in his head. _What goes around.._.

"Who **_are_** you?" Dicky demanded, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. He pressed down a little harder on his subdued prisoner's throat with his own cane. "How did you get in the house? What do you want?" As he asked these questions, Dicky's demeanor signaled that although young, he was indeed dangerous.

"Easy, kid..." Barber gasped, holding his hands out. "I'm...one of the...good guys."

"Oh, yeah? **_Prove_** it! Show me some identification!" Dicky felt a little surprised at himself. The words had just come automatically, almost as if Batman himself were saying them. 

"Sorry, no can do, kid," Barber said with a shake of his head. "I've been operating deep undercover for the past year. The last thing I've needed anywhere on me was any sort of ID that would expose me as a government agent."

"That's rather convenient is it not?" Alfred challenged. "You've entered our home in the dark of night. You claim to be on the trail of this gentleman and Catwoman, but you have no proof of that. You also claim that you're a government agent, but you have no sort of identification. You expect us to take quite a bit on faith, Mr. Barber. Why should we trust you?"

Barber shrugged. "My...boyish...charm?" At their impassive glares, Barber tried another tactic. "Look, kid, if you'll--?"

"You've got ten seconds to prove you're who you say you are," Dicky threatened.

"But...I just said...that I can't--" 

"Five seconds..."

"Okay, okay!" Barber managed. "I can prove it...just let me call my men--"

"And let you signal them to storm the house?" Dicky scoffed. "I was born in a circus, mister...Try selling me another one--"

"No! This is on the up and up!" Barber insisted. "My men are outside, surrounding the manor. I've given them orders not to approach until I have the hostiles under control." Barber studied the boy's reactions. While obviously a highly capable fighter, he was still a young boy and possibly trusting.

"Well...okay," Dicky conceded. "But you better not try anything funny, got it?"

Barber nodded. He pointed at his headset, and Dicky allowed him to activate it. "Riley? This is Barber, come in." Riley's reply came so quickly that Barber knew his friend must be greatly worried.

"Jase! Where are you? What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Take it easy, buddy," Barber replied. "I'm fine...although I have been better."

"What--?"

"Never mind," Barber interrupted. "Look, Riley, I need you to talk to someone here. Tell 'im who I really am, and why I'm here."

"What? Jase, you know that's against standard operating procedure. I can't--"

Barber felt the cane press down just a bit as warning. "Buddy, believe me...you have to. Don't worry, I'm in no danger...yet. But you've gotta do as I say."

"Well...all right. If you're sure."

"Yeah...hold on a sec while I give my headset to the party in question." Barber removed his headset and handed it to Dicky. Eyes still narrowed suspiciously, Dicky reached for the headset and donned it. 

"Hello...?" Dicky spoke tentatively into the mouthpiece, pausing to listen. "Dick." Barber assumed that Riley had just asked the boy his name. "And you?" Pause. "Oh. How do I know you're not lying?" Pause. "Why should I take your word?" Pause. "Really? Diamonds?" Pause. Dicky glanced down at Barber with something like respect in his eyes. "Really? A hero?" Pause. "Well...I guess. Okay, sir. I've gotta go now. G'bye."

Dicky returned the headset to Barber. At the same time, he removed the cane from the agent's throat. "He says he wants to talk to you." Rubbing his throat area ruefully, Barber nodded.

"Riley? It's me." Pause. "Riley? Come in, Riley." Barber removed his headset and checked it. "That's funny," he muttered. He put it on again and tried contacting his friend once more. "Riley?" 

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked. 

Barber shook his head. "I'm not sure. It seems to be working perfectly, but I'm not getting anything. One minute Riley was there, the next he was gone." He stared pensively for a moment.

"Does anyone else know that you and your men are here?" Dicky asked. Barber again shook his head.

"I can't be sure," he admitted. He stood wearily. "I can't worry about that right now. I've still got a job to do."

"Uh-uh!" Dicky said, looking up at him defiantly. "**_I've_** gotta job to do! This is still **_my_** house, and **_my_** responsibility." Without waiting for a response, he took off at a run. Smiling with paternal pride, Alfred followed at a slightly slower pace. Shaking his head in exasperation, Barber had no choice but to follow.

"I hate my life."

****

End of Part 3


	4. Part 4

**_Summary_**: All the players finally come together in the same locked room. (The exciting conclusion.)

**_Note: _**Thanks to Sandra and Alexandra for the beta-help. I couldn't have done it without their insightful help.

**_Rating_**: PG-13

**_Disclaime_**r: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!

**_Copyright_**: April 2003

**** 

Payback 

By Syl Francis

****

Saturday, March 22/01:15am

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

"What kind of _Twilight Zone_ episode **_is_** this?" Catwoman demanded of no one in particular. Turning towards the door from which they'd entered, she glanced at Barbara. "Sorry, Red, but I can't stick around. I've gotta date with a Bat, and I **_don't_** intend on staying here long enough to keep it."

"In that case, what if **_I_** take you home?" 

Catwoman whirled at the sound of the voice. "Barber?" she hissed. "What're **_you_** doing here?"

"She **_knows_** you?" Dicky demanded. He looked up at Barber suspiciously.

"The question, Catwoman," Barber retorted, "is what are **_you_** doing here? This wasn't the deal we had."

"You had a **_deal_** with her?" Dicky asked. His initial suspicion quickly changed to anger. He'd been tricked. Barber really **_was_** one of the bad guys.

"You should know by now, Barber, that I make my **_own_** deals. These diamonds are important to Joey, so...they're important to **_me_**." 

"They're **_also_** important to Uncle Sam! We had a deal, Catwoman!" Barber repeated. "You help us get the goods on Thorne and in exchange you get a full Presidential pardon--!" Barber was cut short when Catwoman unexpectedly cracked her whip and caught him by his good leg. 

"Be that as it may--!" Catwoman said, unceremoniously yanking him off his feet. 

"**_Hey_**--!!" Barber cried out as he went flying. His head slammed against the wall with an audible thud. He slid down unmoving to the floor, his body crumpled where he fell.

"--But I prefer the diamonds over the pardon," she finished. Catwoman walked up to the unconscious form and poked him in the ribs with her toe.

"That's what I like about you, Selina. You never change." They all whirled towards the sound of the new voice--Joey! Smirk firmly in place, Joey rather casually waved a mean-looking handgun that Dicky instantly recognized as an Uzi semi-automatic pistol. "**_Drop it_**!" he ordered, indicating Catwoman's cat-o'-nine-tails. Grimacing in self-disgust, Catwoman tossed it aside.

Watching the proceedings with keen interest, Dicky noticed that the whip landed within reach of the famed jewel thief. He glanced quickly at Joey and saw that this small fact had completely escaped the gunman. _The trick will be--getting to the whip first_, Dicky thought.

Eyes on Catwoman, Joey waved Dicky and Alfred towards the sofa where Barbara lay. Both did as ordered without argument. Dicky sat close to the far edge in an attempt to get as near as possible to the whip. 

"Selina, I think you have something that belongs to me." Joey nodded at the carryall slung over her shoulder. 

"I do?" Catwoman gave him her most ingenuous expression. "What could **_I_** possibly have that belongs to you, Joey? I mean, almost everything you have you stole from me or someone else."

"The **_bag_**, Selina!" Joey snapped, his patience at an end. "Hand it over--**_now_**!" This time he aimed the gun directly at her.

Catwoman looked down at the carryall in feigned surprise. "Joey, this is **_my_** bag. You've seen it before. It's the one I carry on all my jobs." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Selina. **_My_** bag. I know you put it inside your carryall." He grinned menacingly. "Like you said...It's the one you take on all your jobs." He made a threatening gesture with the pistol. "I want you to reach in the carryall and pull out my case.

Catwoman nodded and was about to reach in, when Joey stopped her.

"Uh-uh-uh!" he warned. "Use your **_left_** hand, Selina! And I don't really have to warn you to go real slow, do I?" Not bothering to answer him, Catwoman did as told. Dicky watched, fascinated as Catwoman reached in slowly and carefully pulled out the black overnight case from the larger carryall. Catwoman feigned surprise as she did so.

"Now how did **_that_** get in there?" she asked innocently. "Is this your bag, Joey?" She gave him a disarming smile and a shrug. "Well, why didn't you say so? If I'd've known it was yours, why I **_never_**--"

"Cut the bull, Selina, and hand it over!" Joey interrupted sharply, his impatience growing. "Do it, or I swear I'll shoot!" Catwoman shook her head and tsked.

"And you would, wouldn't you? A dirty, double-crossing louse through and through...all the way to the end," she said matter-of-factly. "You want this?" Catwoman held up the bag. "Okay...**_Take_** it!" Abruptly, Catwoman flung the bag at Joey, who fired in reflex. Then, several things happened simultaneously--

Alfred grabbed Barbara and pulled her off the couch, out of harm's way. 

Catwoman dove behind the couch, just escaping being hit by Joey's stray bullets.

Dicky dove for the whip, lying less than a foot away. Rolling he quickly came up with it in hand. Holding it like Jacques, Simba's trainer had taught him, Dicky cracked it. Immediately the cat-o'-nine-tails wrapped itself tightly around Joey's gun wrist, and the junior superhero pulled.

Joey cried out as the whip's sharp ends stung his unprotected wrist. Although off balance, he managed to keep his hold on the gun and was soon firing wildly, his shots raining hot lead all around them. 

Through the chaos, Dicky heard Barbara's muffled scream. He risked a quick glance in her direction and saw that Alfred was shielding her under the protection of his own body. Somehow, the loyal butler had dragged her under an antique accent table decorated with a colorful Tiffany lamp. At that moment, the Tiffany lamp exploded into a thousand pieces. Startled, Barbara again screamed.  

Dicky's resolve escalated a notch. He had to protect Barbara and Alfred. They were **_his_** responsibility. Knowing he was in danger of being hit by a stray bullet, Dicky refused to let go of his end of the whip. 

Meanwhile, Barber had regained consciousness while the little drama between Catwoman and Joey played itself out in front of him. Barber had watched them, biding his time until he saw an opening. Now, he jumped up and took a flying leap that recalled his former high school football days, tackling Joey to the floor. The force yanked the whip from Dicky's hand, causing him to fall back momentarily off-balance. 

The small acrobat instantly regained his feet. "Alfred! Get Babs outta here!" he yelled and hurried to help Barber subdue Joey, stopped suddenly. Joey held the ugly barrel of the Uzi pistol against Barber's temple, his left arm holding the federal agent tightly by the throat. Barber's eyes met Dicky with a look of profound apology. 

"Sorry, kid...Guess I blew it. Damned knee..." Apparently Joey had turned the tables on Barber. Swallowing, Dicky looked up at Joey's ugly grin.

"You sure did, you lousy gimp!" Joey growled. "You was never on the square with me, were you, Barber?" In anger, Joey tightened his hold around Barber's neck and dug the end of the gun barrel deeper in his temple. "What are you anyway? Some kinda narc? I bet that's what you are, Barber...nothing but a dirty, rotten cop!"

Barber's young, handsome face worked its way through several expressions, finally settling on defiance.

"What if I am?" he asked. "What're you going to do? Pull the trigger? Here? In front of all these witnesses? You know what they do to cop killers, Joey? The gas chamber, that's what!"

"Shut up!" Joey growled. "You're just like Catwoman--a dirty double-crosser who only wants what's mine. Well...you ain't gonna get 'em! Those diamonds belong to me, and I'm takin' 'em!"

Barber smiled, a surprisingly boyish smile. He shook his head. "No, no, no, Joey...Don't you remember? Those diamonds belong to Mr. Thorne. Just like you do. And you know what Thorne does to those who take what belongs to him? I should know...he's given me enough orders to make 'em all disappear. Neatly, y'know? No mess?"

"Yeah?" Joey said, his voice beginning to sound doubtful. "Well...you know what he does to narcs? Last pair ended up in a dumpster down by Dixon Docks--a bullet between the eyes."

"That's kind of funny, y'know that, Joey? 'Cause that's exactly what he said to me before we left him earlier tonight. He said, 'Barber...I want you to take care of Joey for me tonight--a bullet between the eyes. And leave his corpse in a dumpster somewhere--a message to others who try to steal from me."

Dicky noticed that Joey's brow had suddenly become slick with sweat, his entire demeanor growing unsteadily nervous and increasingly frightened. Joey shook his head.

"Naw...you're lying...to save your own carcass," he insisted.

"Am I?" Barber asked, and then trying a new tack added, "Remember the address I gave you earlier tonight? That address is real, Joey. It's a safe house we've set up for all those guys that Thorne ordered me to get rid of." Barber shrugged philosophically. "Whenever he ordered a hit, I just pulled a switch and took them to the safe house, instead."  

"But how--?"

"It wasn't too hard," Barber admitted. "Thorne doesn't exactly surround himself with nuclear scientists. Besides, the Barber worked strictly alone. So...no witnesses--ever! Better yet, since Thorne wanted no evidence to come back later and embarrass him, he never asked questions. As for the victims, once I took them to the safe house, the Feds gave them a choice--the Witness Protection Program or Thorne." He smiled ruefully. "Funny how they all made the right decision." 

Barber turned slightly until he was looking up at Joey. "The offer still stands, Joey. The Feds are waiting at the safe house, ready to give you a new identity, a new start, a new life. All you have to do is put that gun down and walk away from the diamonds. And--"

"--And rat on Thorne?" Joey finished. Reluctantly, Barber nodded. "What if he finds out? I'd be signing my own death warrant!"

"Joey..." Barber said gently. "You're dead already. It's just a matter of time. Thorne's already put out a hit on you. You'll never make it out of Gotham alive." After a moment's hesitation, Joey finally nodded in defeat and handed Barber the gun. Barber closed his eyes in a sign of relief.

Slowly, Alfred crawled out from under the antique table, and then turned to help Barbara to her feet. He quickly untied her, and soon Barbara was rubbing her wrists. Considering all that happened, the sudden crack of Catwoman's whip should have come as no surprise. Of course, they were all caught flat-footed.

"**_Ouch_**!" Barber cried, painfully holding his wrist. The gun, which he'd just been holding, was gone. They all turned to Catwoman who held it in her free hand. She gave Dicky a smile.

"It's all in the wrist, kid," she said, referring to Dicky's earlier unsuccessful attempt to disarm Joey. "Like **_this_**--!" She flicked the whip again, and this time the end wrapped itself around the black leather bag, which still lay where she'd flung it earlier. She smoothly stuffed it back into the larger carryall, which Dicky noted was bulging to the seams. 

Giving them a rueful look, Catwoman held them at bay with the Uzi pistol. "I don't like these things," she admitted. "They're not very subtle. But that doesn't mean I don't know how to use them. So, I recommend that whoever knows how to open this jail, do so now. A cornered cat is a very dangerous thing. I promise...you don't want to find out just how dangerous."

"I don't believe you." All eyes turned to Barbara. Boldly, she took a step forward. "I don't believe that you'd kill us."

"Babs, are you nuts?" Dicky squeaked. Barbara ignored him.

"You could've hurt me, even killed me, earlier," Barbara said, her eyes holding Catwoman's. "But you didn't." She shook her head. "My dad's told me a little about you. He says that you're a jewel thief...and even dangerous. But he also says that you've never killed anyone."

"Even if that's true, Red," Catwoman conceded, "what makes you think that this won't be the first time?" Before Barbara could reply, Barber spoke up. Reaching for his cane, he stood slowly.

"You've never killed anyone before, Catwoman," Barber said quietly. "Do you think that you'd be able to kill **_all_** of us?" Catwoman glared at him, but Barber returned her look calmly. "I've already identified myself as an undercover cop. Actually, I'm a federal agent. If you kill me, you'd be facing a federal death penalty charge. If you just wound me, it's 25 to life. And since everyone here is a witness, you'd have to silence each of us. Do you think you can?"

Catwoman aimed the gun directly at him. "What makes you think I won't?"

It was Dicky's turn to speak. 

"Batman!" he said. Unable to help herself, Catwoman glanced around the room. Dicky giggled. "Oh...he's not here. At least, I don't think so. But you never know, do you? I mean Gotham is **_his_** city, isn't it?"

"The boy's right, Catwoman," Barber said quietly. Placing his weight on his cane, he took a step forward. "I have a feeling that Gotham's Dark Knight would be very unhappy if you murdered--" He counted quickly. "--five people!" He nodded at Dicky, Barbara, and Alfred. "Especially if two of them are minors, and one's a senior." He glanced at Joey and shrugged. "Well, I doubt if even Batman would lose too much sleep over Joey, but still, he wouldn't like it."

"**_Thanks_**--a lot!" Joey growled.

"Shut up," Catwoman hissed. "Like he said, Joey...you're no great loss. So I wouldn't mind killing you." She turned to Barbara. "But you, Red...I'd bet big bucks that your dad would do everything in his power to make sure that nothing happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Barbara asked defiantly. 

"It means that you're coming with me," Catwoman explained. "As my insurance policy."

"What?" Barbara asked, stunned.

"No way!" Dicky shouted. He placed himself between Barbara and Catwoman. "You're not going anywhere, Catwoman! And you're especially not taking Babs with you."

"Who's the kid's keeper?" Catwoman demanded. She glared at Alfred. "You'd best get him out of harm's way, old man. Before he gets hurt."

"Master Richard has everything well in hand, Madam. As he said earlier to Mr. Barber, Miss Barbara is his responsibility."

"If you want Babs, you'll first have to go through me," Dicky threatened. Catwoman stared at him, wryly amused by the young boy's audacity.

"Don't be silly, Dicky," Barbara retorted, shoving him behind her for protection. "You keep forgetting that **_I'm_** the sitter and **_you're_** the sit-tee. **_I'm_** supposed to take care of **_you_**, remember?"

"Miss Barbara," Alfred said in gentle, warning tones. "Might I advise you to stand aside?"

"Look, Catwoman," Barber interrupted. "You're not leaving here with anybody...especially not with a kid!"

"Hey! Who are you calling a kid?" Barbara protested. "I'm almost sixteen!" 

Catwoman snorted, and then fought to keep a straight face. "She's got you there, Barber," she teased.

"No offense, kid--" Barber began and stopped, seeing her as for the first time. He gave her a rakish wink and a smile.  "Sorry, Beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that you're hardly a kid." To Dicky's utter disgust, he saw that Barbara actually blushed at the comment. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, brother," Dicky muttered.

"Catwoman." Barber spoke in a quiet voice. "You have what you want. You have the diamonds. Why don't you just leave now--alone?"

Catwoman sighed and shrugged. "It's what I've been trying to tell you, Barber. I might have the diamonds, but I'm not going anywhere. Not as long as those **_things_** are there!"

"What things?" Barber asked.

"**_Those_** things!" Catwoman said, yanking the curtains open so that everyone could get a good look at the shuttered exits.

"What the--?" Barber muttered. 

"My word--?" Alfred breathed.

"He **_did_** it!" Dicky crowed in triumph.

"Who? Dicky, what **_are_** these things?" Barbara asked.  
  


"Don't you see, Babs? Bruce! **_He_** did it! He told me he was going to, but I didn't know he did. He never told me!"

"Dicky, you're not making a whole lot of sense," Barbara complained.

"Your girlfriend's right, kid," Catwoman interrupted. "You're **_not_** making a lot of sense."

"She's **_not_** my girlfriend!" Dicky denied hotly.

"Now, **_that's_** a relief to hear." For the third time that night, all eyes turned to the sound of the new voice at the door.

"**_Bruce_**!" Dicky cried out. He ran to his guardian who immediately scooped him up in his arms. "I thought you'd left!" Bruce gave him a half-smile and an expression that warned him to play along.

"After all that champagne I drank toasting your first double-digit birthday?" he teased, putting Dicky down again. "Not on your life. I must've fallen asleep in the study."

"Never mind the family reunion. Can you open this dungeon?" Catwoman demanded. Bruce gave her a long, hard look and then turned to Dicky. He studied the boy and spotting a definite mark of discoloration along his temple, Bruce's expression became dangerous.

"Did **_she_** do this to you, son?" he asked. 

Before Dicky could reply, Catwoman interrupted. "Of course, I didn't! I would **_never_** hurt a child--!"

"She's telling the truth, Mr. Wayne," Barbara broke in. "She could've hurt me when she had the chance, but she didn't. She was really nice...except for the part where she tied me up." Barbara added this last bit a little lamely.

"Catwoman didn't hurt me, Bruce!" Dicky looked insulted. "She's a **_girl_**!" At his young ward's protest, Bruce glanced at Catwoman, his normally brooding eyes lit in amusement. Catwoman simply shook her head. 

"The cage?" She waved at the sealed exits as a reminder, but Dicky interrupted.

"**_He_** did it!" Dicky pointed at Joey. Bruce gave Joey a look that sent chills down the bagman's spine. "He hit me, but it was really all Alfred's fault."

"Alfred?" Bruce asked, glancing at his loyal friend.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Alfred admitted. 

"Now this I've **_gotta_** hear," Bruce muttered.

"Yeah, we all would, Mr. Wayne," Barber said. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with this."

"I'll second that," Catwoman muttered. She looked at the gun in her hand and shrugged. A lot of good it was doing her. Nobody in the room--except Joey--believed for a second that she'd use it. And they were right. Catwoman sighed. This place was beginning to feel more and more like a jail.

"Get on with what?" Barbara asked Barber.

"With **_this_**, Beautiful--!" Barber gave her another jaunty wink. While Barbara's complexion turned a deep crimson, and Dicky rolled his eyes, Barber brought his cane up in a single, smooth motion and pressed a hidden release. Instantly, a weighted, steel mesh net shot out and enveloped Catwoman, who collapsed under the heavy burden.

"Why you--!" Catwoman shouted helplessly. "Barber, if it's the last thing I do, I--!"

"Aw! Shaddup, Selina!" Joey taunted. "You was beaten fair 'n square." He slapped Barber on the back in a show of camaraderie. "Always prepared, Barber...just like one a them Boy Scouts. Thanks for saving me the trouble!" Before they could react, Joey grabbed Barbara and shoved a much smaller, but no less dangerous, handgun against her temple. "Like I said...those diamonds are mine, and nobody's taking 'em from me." Addressing the room in general, he cocked the hammer. "If you don't want me to blow a big hole into this little girl's pretty head, you'll hand over the diamonds and open up this place." He gave Dicky an amused once-over. "Okay, kid, you wanna save your girlfriend--?"

"She's **_not_** my girlfriend!" Dicky growled. "She's my **_friend_**!"

"Sorry, kid. I stand corrected," Joey conceded. "If you want to save your friend, bring the bag over here." The mob bagman withstood an icy-blue glare from the ten-year-old. About to lose patience, Joey grinned in triumph when the boy turned on his heel and moved towards Catwoman to carry out his orders. Joey next turned to Bruce. "You! Rich boy!" he snapped. "The cage! I want you to pull an open-sesame, or the redhead buys it." He paused dramatically. "Then your kid's next." Joey found himself once again assaulted by a pair of glacier-blue eyes. 

Not taking his eyes from Joey's, Bruce nodded curtly and recited aloud, "Three--twenty-one--ten!" At his words, the metallic shutters immediately began to lift, whirring softly on their well-oiled runners. Unable to help himself, Joey looked around for a split-second, taking his eyes off the men he was holding at bay.

That was all the opening the men needed. The loud, familiar snap of Catwoman's whip rang in the room, followed by Joey's cry of pain as it encircled around his unprotected wrist. Dicky yanked with all his might and cried out, "**_Now_**!" Seeing his chance, Bruce dove for Joey, grabbing his gun wrist. Simultaneously, Barber sprang forward and scooped Barbara out of harm's way. 

The gun went off with an ear-splitting explosion in the enclosed room. Dicky ducked for cover, while Barbara screamed. Bruce drove a roundhouse blow to Joey's exposed middle and followed through with a left hook to the chin. The lousy, double-crossing rat went down without another sound.

"Bruce!" Dicky ran towards his guardian and threw his arms around his waist. Bruce hugged him closely to him. "That was great! Voice-activated commands--how cool is that?"

"You liked that, huh?" Bruce asked him. "What did you think of the command code I used?" At Dicky's blank look, Bruce knelt down to eye level with him, his expression softened. "Three--twenty-one--ten? March 21st for your birthday...ten for the number of years!"

In the meantime, Barbara was pinned facedown on the floor, a heavy weight holding her immobilized. At last, the weight slid off and Barbara was able to sit up. 

"What happened?" she asked and stopped. Barber sat huddled over, his face pale with pain. He was holding his knee with both hands, attempting to stem the flow of blood. "Oh! You're hurt!" she cried. Immediately, Alfred and Bruce were there, applying pressure to the wound. 

"No need...to worry...Beautiful..." Barber muttered, eyes fluttering half-closed. "Jus' a scratch..." Woozy, Barber leaned on Barbara for support and promptly passed out.

****

Saturday, March 22/02:30am

Wayne Manor

Gotham City

****

"That's it, Lady!" Bullock growled. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you--!"

"Stow it, creep!" Catwoman hissed. "I know my rights." She stood defiantly, handcuffed and ready for transport. Two uniformed officers stood on either side of her, each with a firm grip around one of her upper arms.

"That's good to hear," Bullock retorted. "Because I guess you know where you and your boyfriend here--" He nodded at Joey. "--are going." 

Catwoman disengaged herself from her escorts and angrily turned on Bullock. "Get this straight, Flatfoot! This rat is **_not_** my boyfriend! He's not even my friend! In fact, if I could somehow manage it, he wouldn't be a distant acquaintance--!"

"Aw...Shaddup, Selina," Joey growled. He, too, was handcuffed and ready for transport.

Bullock snapped his fingers at the policemen. "Get 'em both out of here," he grunted. "I'll be following in the chase car." Catwoman and Joey's escorts nodded and none-too-gently steered them to the door. Four other officers followed behind them. Two of them professionally brandished shotguns, while a third carried Catwoman's carryall, gloves, and whip. The fourth officer had a box containing all the weapons found on Joey. In addition to the two handguns he'd used that night, he'd also been carrying a switchblade and two throwing stars.

Bullock shook his head in disgust and muttered under his breath. He turned to Gordon. "Any instructions, Cap'n?"

"Call me when you've got 'em both safely behind bars," Gordon told him. Bullock nodded in acknowledgement and left. Gordon then walked over to where Dr. Leslie Thompson and the EMTs were finishing up with Barber. To his vast disapproval, Gordon saw that Barbara was holding the young agent's hand. Barbara felt her father's gaze on her, and looking up blushed furiously. Raising her chin in teenaged defiance, she turned back to Barber, refusing to let go of his hand.

"Will our young hero here be all right?" Gordon asked the EMT working on Barber. The emergency medical technician gave Gordon a neutral look and a shrug.

"It's a clean wound," he said. "The bullet went in and out. But what do I know? I just keep 'em alive, Captain. It's up to the doctors to fix 'em up good as new. Right, Doc?" Leslie gave Gordon a quick shake of the head.

"I see." Gordon caught Barber's eye and noted the rueful look the young agent gave him. Gordon realized that Barber knew. He was well aware that he wouldn't be as good as new. Apparently, he'd been shot in the same knee where he'd been wounded during Desert Storm. Solemnly, Gordon placed his hands on Barbara's shoulders and drew her to him. He reached down and shook hands with Barber by way of greeting. "I haven't had a chance to thank you for saving my daughter's life, Mr. Barber." 

"The name's Bard...Jason Bard. 'Barber' was just my cover."

"How long were you undercover, Jase?" Barbara asked, her eyes shining. At her deferential tone, Gordon felt a twinge of jealousy shoot through him. 

"A little over a year," Bard told her. 

"Really? Weren't you scared?" she asked. 

"Who me?" he asked. He gave her a gently amused smile, and playfully tweaked her nose. "All the time, Beautiful."

Gordon tousled the top of Barbara's head. "My little girl's life is very precious to me, Mr. Bard. Thank you again." 

"Oh, Daddy...!" Barbara protested, not appreciating being treated as a child in front of her new hero. "You're making me sound like a complete **_infant_**!"

"I'm going to second what Captain Gordon said, Mr. Bard," Bruce said. "I've spoken to Doc Leslie, and she's already okayed it, so--" Bruce pulled a reluctant Dicky forward. "--We, that is Dicky and I, would be greatly honored if you stayed here at Wayne Manor until you're able to get around again."

Bard gave them a self-deprecating smile. "Mr. Wayne...Captain Gordon, thanks...but honestly, I really didn't do a whole lot," he said. "Mr. Wayne, you and Dicky here were the ones who disarmed Joey. All I did was get myself shot and fall on top of your daughter. Not exactly the stuff of legends."

"I'll say..." Dicky muttered to himself. He winced as Bruce's fingers squeezed his shoulder a little painfully.

"Don't listen to him, gentlemen. My friend here is a bona fide war hero--Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart," Riley said as he walked up to them. "We've been on the trail of Rupert Thorne for a couple of years now. We're getting anywhere, until Jase came onboard. With his help we've now broken up Thorne's 'drugs for money-for illegal arms-for diamonds' ring. Thanks to Jase, the U.S. Attorney General will finally be able to put Thorne away for a very long time!"

"Riley, have you heard from Andersen?" Bard asked worriedly. He'd slipped in and out of consciousness for the past hour and was afraid that he'd missed something.

Riley nodded. "Andersen just reported in. The raid at Thorne Towers yielded the original stash of uncut diamonds we've been tracking--plus, several metal boxes containing an untold number of bundles of $100 dollar bills. All in all, a successful raid."

"Well...that's good news, anyway," Bard said. "Now, if only he can hold onto the evidence long enough for you to get there." 

Riley gave Bard a smile. "Are you gonna be okay, buddy?" 

Bard nodded. "Yeah...I've been through this before. The docs'll probably tell me to stay off the knee for a few weeks. After that..." he shrugged. "Who am I kidding, Riley?" He shook his head. "Why did it have to be the same knee?" 

Riley shrugged. "Hey, buddy...Keep your chin up. Just you wait...In a few weeks you'll be back at the agency. Didn't you tell me once that nothing can keep Jason Bard down?"

Bard gave his friend a disingenuous grin. "Yeah, sure...and don't you forget it." Smiling, the two friends shook hands, each knowing that it was probably goodbye. With a final wave, Riley walked out.

At this moment, the phone rang and Alfred answered it. "Wayne residence," he intoned and listened. "One moment, please." Alfred covered the mouthpiece and addressed Gordon, "Captain Gordon...for you, sir."

"Thanks," Gordon said, taking the phone. 

"I thought you were very brave," Barbara told Bard. Bard gave her his now-familiar rakish wink and grin.

"Thanks, Beautiful."

Sitting next to Bruce on the sofa, Dicky scowled and muttered something under his breath. Bruce quietly put his arm around the boy's shoulder and drew Dicky to him. Sighing in disgust, Dicky snuggled deeper into the warmth of his guardian's embrace. Being ten could be hard sometimes, he decided, but at other times, it could still be nice.

The quiet was shattered a moment later.

"What?!!" Gordon shouted. "How did it happen?!" Gordon listened, livid. He dropped his head into his hands. "Of all the idiotic...incompetent...!" He paused again, listening. "All right! All right! Put out an APB! I want everyone on the lookout for her! You hear me!?" Pause. "Yeah, well...stand in line, Sgt. Bullock. By the time this over, we may **_both_** be looking for a new job." He hung up in disgust.

"Daddy, what happened?" Barbara asked, worriedly. 

Gordon shook his head, his expression highly displeased. "It seems the Catwoman escaped."  
  
Everyone spoke at once: "**_What_**?! How did it happen!?"  
  
Gordon spoke in flat tones. "Apparently, Catwoman removed her handcuffs as slick as any circus escape artist--" (Dicky and Bruce exchanged knowing glances. That's how she had escaped from them back on the rooftop all those months ago!) "--and used some kind of knockout gas in the police sedan. According to Sgt. Bullock who was in the chase vehicle, the car that was transporting her, slowed down briefly and all the cops were tossed out. Before anyone could react, it took off at an extremely high rate of speed. When what passes for brains in our GCPD's Finest finally kicked in and they started to pursue..." Gordon's voice died out, and the senior detective stared off into space.  
  
Bruce and Dicky worried exchanged glances. "What happened then, Jim?" Bruce asked. "Jim?"  
  
Gordon shook himself back to awareness. "The Catwoman activated the police cruiser's 'Quick Stop Zapper' system." At everyone's blank look, he explained,  "Each cruiser is equipped with a remote 'Zapper' system. When activated, the system remotely sends an electronic signal that can stall the engine of any car. We use it as a safe way to put an end to high-speed chases. Cars that have been 'zapped' just roll to a stop, their engines dead."  
  
They all stared at each other. "So, she got away from you, too?" Dicky asked. At Gordon's fierce look, Dicky swallowed and changed the subject. "What happened to Joey?"

Gordon made a sour face. "He was being transported in a different car," Gordon replied. "His next stop will be Blackgate Prison."

Dicky gave Bard a thoughtful look. "Funny...he could've taken the Witness Protection Program and had a new life. Now--"

"--Now he'll have to spend life in prison looking over his shoulder for any of Thorne's thugs," Gordon said. "I have a feeling he's going to have a very short imprisonment."

"**_Daddy_**!" Barbara cried out in shocked disapproval. Gordon and Bard exchanged neutral glances, and then burst into laughter at the same time. "**_Jason_**!" She crossed her arms in pique. "**_Oh! Men_**!"

Getting himself under control, Jason spoke placatingly. "Sorry, Gorgeous. Lousy joke." His grin belied his contriteness. "But, hey! It's not **_all_** bad...We recovered the diamonds, didn't we?" Nodding, Gordon held up the bag and tossed it at Jason.   
  
"Jase, show us the diamonds," Barbara asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Dicky said, yawning sleepily. "Can we see 'em?"

"I think you need to see the inside of your bedroom, partner," Bruce said, shifting Dicky to his lap. 

"I'm not sleepy...honest!" Dicky looked up at Bruce with half-closed eyes. "I'm ten now!" Smiling gently, Bruce ran his hand through his adopted son's hair. Dicky leaned his head against Bruce's chest.

"Yeah...you sure are, aren't you?" Bruce spoke in low tones, his chin on Dicky's dark head.

Smiling Bard opened the bag and began to look through it. Scowling, he took out a child-size pair of pajamas, T-shirts, socks and Underoos. Barbara giggled at this, while Dicky turned beet-red.  
  
"Hey! That's **_my_** bag!" he protested, suddenly wide-awake. Slipping out of Bruce's hold, he ran to Bard's side before the federal agent could take out anything else that might prove embarrassing. Digging through the bag, Dicky pulled out the carved wooden box that Pop Haly had given him for his birthday and smiled happily. "Bruce! It's here! Look!" Dicky opened the box and his smile turned to one of surprise. Inside, he found a new figurine, one that had not been there before--a wooden, carved figure of a tiger. Attached to it was a note:

  
Take care of Sasha for me. 

(From one cat lover to another.) 

Happy Birthday! 

C.W.

"Sasha?" Dicky asked.

"An overgrown housecat," Bard explained. He gave Dicky a look of approval. "It seems that Catwoman is entrusting you with the care of her pet tiger, kid. You should feel proud." He sighed. "I guess that means she's skipping the country--**_with_** the diamonds!"

"But how?" Barbara asked. "Dicky and I saw her put the case with the diamonds inside that larger bag--the one she said she always took on her jobs. And we all saw her pull it out and toss it to Joey."

"Yeah, but then, she took it back," Dicky reminded them. "Remember? With her whip?" At Barbara's nod, Dicky became thoughtful. "She stuffed the bag with the diamonds inside the larger carryall. I remember thinking at the time that the carryall looked like it was going to bust at the seams."

Barbara gave Dicky a look of admiration for his deductive reasoning. "Dicky, if you're right, then Catwoman must've had **_your_** bag stuffed in there already!"

"So, when Joey **_again_** got the drop on us--" Dicky began.

"--And **_again_** told her to give him the bag with diamonds--" Barbara continued.

"--Catwoman pulled a switch," Bard finished. "What a lousy break!"

"It's not that bad, Bard," Gordon said. "I know you put your life on the line for this case. But look at what you've achieved. You broke Thorne's organization in this town. I'd say that's cause for celebration, not self-pity."

"That's easy for you say, Captain," Bard retorted. "You've got the use of **_both_** your legs! What good am **_I_** going to be? Do you think the agency will take me back? I've seen it all before, and I can see it now. Rewind, play tape: 'Sorry, Bard...you've done a great job. Your country is grateful for your service, but we're afraid that we no longer have use of your assistance!' Been there, done that!"

"Jase, you'll think of something," Barbara said, taking his hand in hers. 

"You still have your brains, don't you, Mr. Bard?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah...so what?"

"So plenty!" Bruce said harshly. "Wayne Enterprises always needs good investigators to help with legal matters. Multiply that by the myriad corporations located here in Gotham City, not to mention that there are always private citizens who have need of a private investigator at different times in their lives. Think about it." Bruce turned to Dicky and picked him up. "As for **_you_**, Birthday Boy...it's time you said good night to everybody!"

"Good night, everybody!" Dicky giggled. Pausing at the door, Bruce again faced Bard.

"Mr. Bard, you strike me as an intelligent and resourceful young man. Unless you're going to be a quitter, I think that you can make a success out of whatever you set out to do." He held Bard's eyes. "Sleep on it, Mr. Bard. If you're interested, talk to me about it in the morning. Good night, everybody."

Alfred stepped forward with Gordon and Barbara's coats. "Thank you, Alfred," Gordon said. "Barbara and I know our way out."

"Very good, sir. Good night, Miss Barbara."

"Good night, Alfred," Barbara said. She turned shyly to Bard. "Good night, Jason."

"Good night, Beautiful," he said disarmingly.

Long after the house had settled for the night, Bard murmured softly to himself, "Jason Bard, Private Investigations..." He smiled in the dark. "Has a nice ring to it."

****

The End


End file.
